Aje<(    fy^c 

~r 

SKETCH 


OF 


FORTY  YEARS  SINCE. 


**  Land  of  my  sires ! — What  mortal  hand 

Can  e'er  untie  tke  filial  band 

That  knits  me  to  thy  rugged  strand  ?" 


SCOTT 


HARTFORD : 
OLIVER  D.  COOKE  &  SON 8. 

1824. 


DISTRICT  OF  CONNECTICUT,  as. 

BE  IT  REMEMBERED  That  on  the  30th  day  of  April, 
L.  <S.  in  the  forty-eighth  year  of  the  the  independence  of  the 
United  States  of  America,  OLIVER  D.  COOKE  &  Sews, 
of  the  said  district,  have  deposited  in  this  office  the  title  of  a 
Book,  the  right  wh«reof  they  claim  as  proprietors,  in  th«  words 
following,  to  wit : 

"  Sketch  of  Connecticut,  Forty  Years  Since. 
"  Land  of  my  Sires  !  What  mortal  hand 
Can  e'er  untie  the  filial  band 
That  knits  me  to  thy  rugged  strand." 

Scott. 

In  conformity  to  the  act  of  the  Congress  of  the  United  States, 

entitled,  "  An  act  for  the  encouragement  of  learning,  by  secur- 

;'  ing  the  copies  of  Maps,  Charts  and  Books,  to  the  authors  aod 

• '  proprietors  of  such  copies  during  the  times  therein  mentioned," 

CHARLES  A.  INGERSOLL, 

Clerk  of  the  District  of  Connecticut. 
\  true  copy  of  Record,  examined  and  sealed  by  me, 
CHARLES  A.  INGERSOLL, 

Clerk  of  the  District  of  Connecticut 


» 


Roberts  &.  Burr,  Printers. 


SKETCH 

OF 

CONNECTICUT, 

FORTY  YEARS  SINCE. 

» 

CHAPTER  I. 

''August she  trod,  yet  gentle  was  her  air, 
Serene  her  eye,  hut  darting  heavenly  fire, 

Her  brow  encircled  with  its  silver  hair 

More  mild  appear'd  ;  yet  such  as  might  inspire 

Pleasure  corrected  with  an  awful  fear, 

Majestically  sweet,  and  amiably  severe." 

Bishop  Lowth. 

NOT  far  from  where  the  southern  limits  of  Connecticut 

meet  the  waters  of  the  sea,  the  town  of  N is  situated. 

As  you  approach  from  the  west,  it  exhibits  a  rural  aspect, 
of  meadows  intersected  by  streams,  and  houses  over 
shadowed  with  trees.  Viewed  from  the  eastern  acclivity, 
it  seems  like  a  citadel  guarded  by  parapets  of  rock,  and 
embosomed  in  an  ampitheatre  of  hills,  whose  summits 
mark  the  horizon  with  a  waving  line  of  dark  forest  green. 
Entering  at  this  avenue,  you  perceive  that  its  habitations 
bear  few  marks  of  splendour,  but  many  of  them,  retiring- 


2  SKETCH    OF    CONNECTICUT, 

behind  the  shelter  of  lofty  elms,  exhibit  the  appearance 
of  comfort  and  respectability.  Travelling  south  ward  about 
two  miles,  through  the  principal  road,  the  rural  features 
of  the  landscape  are  lost,  in  the  throng  of  houses,  and 
bustle  of  men.  The  junction  of  two  considerable  streams 
here  forms  a  beautiful  river,  which,  receiving  the  tides  of 
th€  sea,  rushes  with  a  short  course  into  its  bosom. 

Masts  peer  over  ware-houses,  and  streets  rise  above 
streets,  with  such  irregularity  that*  the  base  of  one  line 
of  buildings  sometimes  overlooks  the  roofs  of  another. 
Here  Man,  incessantly  combating  the  obstacles  of  Na 
ture,  is  content  to  hang  his  dwelling  upon  her  rocks,  if 
he  may  but  gather  the  treasures  of  her  streams.  Yet  spots 
of  brightness,  and  of  beauty  occur  amid  these  eagle-nests 
upon  the  cliff ;  gardens  of  flowers  ;  bold  and  romantic 
shores  ;  pure,  broad,  sparkling  waters  ;  white  sails  dancing 
at  the  will  of  the  breeze  ;  boats  gliding  beneath  bridges, 
or  between  islands  of  verdure,  with  sportive  and  graceful 
motion,  like  the  slight  gossamer  in  the  sun-beam. 

Between  these  two  sections  of  the  town,  which,  though 
sisters,  bear  no  family  resemblance,  is  a  landscape,  which 
some  writer  of  romance  might  be  pleased  to  describe.  It 
is  about  a  mile  from  the  mouth  of  the  smallest  of  the  two 
streams  just  mentioned,  which,  winding  its  way  through 
green  meadows  with  a  mild  course,  is  fringed  with  the 
willow,  and  many  aquatic  shrubs,  bending  their  drooping 
branches  to  kiss  its  noiseless  tide.  Suddenly  it  assumes 
the  form  of  a  cataract.  Dashing  tumulluously  from  rock 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE. 

to  rock,  it  sends  forth  from  their  excavations,  deep,  hollow 
sounds ;  as  if  thunders  were  born  in  those  unvisited  cav 
erns.  Tossing  and  foaming  over  the  masses  that  obstruct 
its  channel,  it  becomes  compressed  within  narrow  limits 
by  two  lofty  precipices.  One,  rises  frowning  and  per 
pendicular  like  the  walls  of  a  castle.  A  few  hardy  ever 
greens  cling  to  its  crown,  and  mark  the  spot  whence  the 
hunted  Pequots  were  forced,  by  their  conquerors  the 
Mohegans,  to  their  fatal  plunge  from  time  into  eternity. 
Fancy,  awakened  by  tradition,  sometimes  paints  their 
forms  mingling  with  the  dark,  slow  waters  that  circle  the 
base  of  that  fearful  cliff;  or  hears  their  spirits  shrieking 
amid  the  clamour  of  the  cataract.  The  opposite  rampart 
presents  a  chain  of  rocks,  of  less  towering  height,  inter 
spersed  with  lofty  trees,  displaying  the  names  of  many 
who  have  visited  and  admired  this  wild  and  picturesque 
scenery.  The  enthusiast  of  Nature,  who  should  conquer 
its  precipitous  descent,  and  stand  upon  the  margin  of  the 
flood  which  creeps  in  death-like  stillness  through  this 
guarded  defile,  might  see  on  his  right,  the  foam,  the  va 
pour,  the  tossing  of  a  tempestuous  conflict  ;  on  his  left, 
a  broad  chrystal  mirror,  studded  with  emerald  islets, 
and  bounded  by  romantic  shores,  where  peaceful  man- 
tons,  embosomed  in  graceful  shades,  are  seen  through 
vistas  of  green.  Beneath,  the  black  and  almost  motion 
less  waters  seem,  to  him  who  gazes  intensely,  like  the 
river  of  forgetfulness,  annihilating  the  traces  of  a  passing 
world.  Above,  the  proud  cliff  rears  its  waving  helmet, 


4  SKETCH   OF    CONNECTICUT, 

a»  if  in  defiance  of  the  bowing  cloud.  To  hear  the  voice 
of  Nature  in  passionate  strife,  and  at  the  same  moment  to 
gaze  upon  her  slumbering  calmness  ;  to  be  lost  in  con 
templation  upon  the  moral  contrast,  then  startled  into 
awe  by  her  strong  features  of  majesty  ;  leave  the  mind 
uncertain  whether,  in  this  secluded  temple,  beauty  ought 
most  to  charm,  or  awe  to  enchain  it,  or  devotion  to 
absorb  all  other  sensations  in  reverence  to  the  invisible 
God. 

Retracing  our  steps  to  the  northern  division  of  N — 
we  find  a  society  remarkable  for  the  preservation  of  pri 
mitive  habits.  There,  was  exhibited  the  singular  exam 
ple  of  an  aristocracy,  less  intent  upon  family  aggrandize 
ment,  than  upon  becoming  illustrious  in  virtue  ;  and  of  a 
community  where  industry  and  economy  almost  banished 
want.  Do  mestic  subordination  taught  the  young  to  hon 
our  the  old,  while  the  temperance  and  regularity  which 
prevailed  gave  to  age  both  contentment  and  health.  The 
forty  years,  which  have  elapsed  since  the  period  of  this 
sketch,  have  wrought  many  changes  ;  but  some  features 
of  similarity  remain.  That  luxury  which  enervates  cha 
racter,  and  undermines  the  simple  principles  of  justicej 
and  charity,  has  found  its  ravages  circumscribed  by  the 
example  of  those  to  whom  wealth  gave  influence.  An 
unusual  number  of  individuals,  whose  first  steps  were  in 
humble  life,  have  risen  to  the  possession  of  riches,  not  by 
fortunate  accidents,  or  profuse  gains,  by  lotteries  or  by 
war.  bwt  through  an  industry  which  impoverished  none. 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  U 

and  a  prudence  which  as  resolutely  frowned  upon  waste 
of  time,  as  waste  of  money.  It  has  been  thought  that  the 
advantages,  arising  from  a  favourable  situation  for  com 
merce,  and  from  a  surrounding  country  eminently  agricul 
tural,  languished  for  want  of  vigorous  enterprize.  Yet  a 
source  of  wealth  still  less  fluctuating  has  been  discovered, 
in  lessening  the  number  of  factitious  wants,  and  pruning 
the  excrescences  of  fashion  and  of  folly.  A  more  moral 
stale  of  society  can  scarcely  be  imagined,  than  that  which 
existed  within  the  bosom  of  these  rocks.  Almost  it  might 
seem  as  if  their  rude  summits,  pointing  in  every  direc 
tion,  had  been  commissioned  to  repel  the  intrusion  of 
vice.  In  this  department  of  the  town  wras  the  mansion  oi 
Madam  L .  It  raised  its  broad,  dignified  front,  with 
out  other  decorations  than  the  white  rose,  and  the  sweet 
brier,  rearing  their  columns  of  beauty  and  fragrance, 
quite  to  the  projection  of  the  roof.  In  front,  was  a  court 
of  shorn  turf,  like  the  richest  velvet,  intersected  by  two 
paved  avenues  to  the  principal  entrances,  and  enclosed 
by  a  white  fence,  resting  upon  a  foundation  of  hewn  stone. 
On  each  side  of  the  antiquated  gate  waved  the  boughs 
of  a  spruce,  intermingling  their  foliage,  and  defying-,  in 
(heir  evergreen  garb,  the  changes  of  climate.  The  habi 
tation,  which  faced  the  rising  sun,  had  on  its  left,  and  in 
the  rear  of  its  long  range  of  offices,  two  large  gardens  for 
vegetables  and  fruit.  A  third,  which  had  a  southern  ex 
posure,  and  lay  beneath  the  windows  of  the  parlour,  was 
partially  devoted  to  flowers.  There,  in  quadrangles,  tri- 


6  SKETCH    OF    CONNECTICUT, 

angles,  and  parallelograms,  beds  of  mould  were  thrown 
up,  and  regularly  arranged,  according  to  what  the  florists 
of  that  age  denominated  "  a  knot."  There,  in  the  centre, 
the  flaunting  peony  reared  its  head  like  a  queen  upon  her 
throne,  surrounded  by  a  guard  of  tulips,  arrayed  as 
eourtiers  in  every  hue,  deep  crimson,  buflf  streaked  with 
vermillion,  and  pure  white  mantled  with  a  blush  of  car 
mine.  In  the  borders,  the  purple  clusters  of  the  lilac, 
mingled  with  the  feathery  orb  of  the  snow-ball,  and  the 
pure  petals  of  the  graceful  lily.  Interspersed  were  vari 
ous  species  of  the  rose,  overshadowing  snow-drops,  and 
daffodils  the  earliest  heralds  of  Spring — the  violet,  whose 
purple  eye  seems  half  to  beam  with  intelligence. — the 
hyacinth,  the  blue-bell,  and  the  guinea-hen  in  its  mot 
tled  robe. 

There  were  also  the  personified  flowers — gaudy  soldiers 
in  green — the  tawdry  ragged  lady — the  variegated  batch- 
elor — the  sad  mourning  bride — and  the  monk  in  his  som 
bre  hood.  The  larkspur  mingled  with  the  sweet  pea,  and 
the  humble  fumatory  grew  at  the  foot  of  the  proud  crown 
imperial,  which  lifted  its  cluster  of  flowers,  and  crest  oi 
leaves,  with  patrician  haughtiness.  A  broad  walk  divided 
this  garden  into  nearly  equal  compartments.  The  west 
ern  part,  covered  with  rich  turf,  and  interspersed  with 
fruit  trees,  displayed  at  its  extremity  a  summer-house, 
encircled  by  a  luxuriant  vine,  and  offering  a  delightful 
retreat  from  a  fervid  sun.  Seated  beneath  the  canopy  oi 
fragrant  clusters,  you  might  see  the  velvet-coated  peach, 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  7 

the  rich  plum  with  its  purple,  or  emerald  robe,  and  the 
orange-coloured  pear  bruising  itself  in  its  fall.  Raspber 
ries,  supporting  themselves  by  the  fence,  interwove  their 
branches  with  the  bushes  that  lined  it,  as  if  ambitious 
to  form  an  impervious  hedge  ;  while  at  their  feet,  the  red 
and  white  strawberry  offered  its  treasures.  Near  the  same 
region  was  a  small  nurseiy  of  medicinal  plants  ;  for  the 
mind  which  had  grouped  so  many  pleasures  for  the  eye 
and  the  taste  of  man,  had  not  put  out  of  sight  his  infirmi 
ties,  or  forgotten  where  it  was  written,  "  in  the  garden 
was  a  sepulchre."  There,  arose  the  rough  leafed  sage, 
with  its  spiry  efflorescence,  the  hoarhound  foe  of  consump 
tion,  the  aperient  cumphrey,  the  aromatic  tansy,  and  the 
bitter  rue  and  wormwood.  There,  also,  the  healing  balm 
was  permitted  to  flourish,  and  the  pungent  peppermint  for 
distillation.  Large  poppies,  scattered  here  and  there,  per 
fected  their  latent  anodyne,  and  hop-vines,  clasping  the 
accustomed  arches,  disclosed  from  their  aromatic  clus 
ters  some  portion  of  their  sedative  powers.  Through 

these  scenes  of  odoriferous  wildness  Madam  L often 

wandered,  and  like  our  first  mother,  amused  herself  by 
removing  whatever  marred  its  beauty,  and  cherishing  all 
that  heightened  its  excellence. 

Her  alert  step,  and  animated  aspect  would  scarcely 
permit  the  beholder  to  believe  that  the  weight  of  almost 
seventy  years  oppressed  her  ;  though  the  spectacles,  that 
aided  her  in  distinguishing  weeds  from  plants,  proved  that 
time  had  not  spared  to  levy  some  tribute  upon  his  favour- 


8  SKETCH   OF    CONNECTICUT, 

ite.  Her  fair,  open  forehead,  clear  expressive  blue  eye, 
and  finely  shaped  countenance  displayed  that  combination 
of  intellect  with  sensibility,  which  marked  her  character. 
A  tall  and  graceful  persoi,  whose  symmetry  age  had  res 
pected,  gave  dignity  to  a  deportment  which  the  sorrows 
of  life  had  softened.  A  vein  of  playful  humour  had  been 
natural  to  her  youth,  and  might  still  occasionally  be  de 
tected  in  her  quick  smile,  and  kindling  eye.  Yet  this 
was  divested  of  every  semblance  of  asperity  by  the  spirit 
of  a  religion,  breathing  love  to  all  mankind.  Her  voice 
had  that  peculiar  and  exquisite  tone,  which  seems  an  echo 
of  the  soul's  harmony.  Her  brow  was  circled  with  thin 
folds  of  the  purest  cambrick,  whose  whiteness  was  con 
trasted  with  the  broad,  black  ribband  which  compressed 
them,  and  the  kerchief  of  the  same  colour,  pinned  in  quaint 
and  quaker-like  neatness  over  her  bosom.  Her  counte 
nance  in  its  silence  spoke  the  language  of  peace  within, 
good  will  to  all  around,  and  the  sublimated  joy  of  one. 
whose  "  kingdom  is  not  of  this  world."  Her  liberality 
was  proverbial.  She  loved  the  poor  and  the  sick,  as  if 
they  were  unfortunate  members  of  her  own  family.  To  I 
afford  them  relief,  was  not  a  deed  of  ostentation,  but  a 
source  of  heartfelt  delight.  She  considered  herself  as 
the  obliged  party,  when  an  opportunity  was  presented  of 
distributing  His  bounty,  who  by  entrusting  her  with  riches 
had  constituted  her  his  almoner,  and  would  at  length  re 
quire  an  account  of  her  stewardship.  Her  piety  was  not 
a  strife  about  doctrines,  though  the  articles  of  her  belief 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  9 

were  by  no  means  indifferent  to  her.  She  thought  the 
spirit  of  controversy  should  be  held  in  subjection  to  that, 
tvhich  moveth  to  Jove  and  to  good  works. 

She  disclaimed  that  bigotry  which  desires  to  extinguish 
every  light  which  its  own  hand  has  not  kindled.  She 
looked  upon  the  varying  sects  of  Christians,  as  trav 
ellers  pursuing  different  roads  to  the  same  eternal  city. 

This  liberality  of  sentiment  was  deserving  of  more 
praise,  forty  years  since  than  in  our  times,  when  supe 
rior  illumination  bears  with  stronger  influence  upon  the 
mists  of  prejudice.  Educated  in  the  metropolis  of  the 
state,  the  daughter  of  its  first  magistrate,  born  of  a  family 
of  high  respectability,  introduced  by  marriage  into  the 
aristocracy  of  N — ,  conscious  that  her  excellencies  were 
so  appreciated  by  those  around  her,  that  she  was  consid 
ered  almost  as  a  being  of  an  higher  order,  it  would  not 
have  been  wonderful  if  some  haughtiness  had  marked  her 
exterior,  at  a  period  when  those  distinctions  signified  more 
than  they  do  at  present.  But  that  self-complacency, 
which  is  the  spontaneons  growth  of  the  unrenovated  heart, 
was  early  checked  by  a  religion  which  taught  her  "not 
to  glory  save  in  the  cross  of  Christ."  Afflictions  also 
humbled  the  hopes  which  might  have  unwisely  aspired, 
or  laboured  to  lay  too  deep  a  foundation  on  the  earth.  She 
had  borne  the  yoke  in  her  youth.  The  early  death  of  her 
parents  was  strong  discipline  for  a  tender  spirt.  Her  hus 
band  was  endued  by  nature  with  every  excellence  to  awak 
en  her  attachment  and  confidence.  His  mind,  enlarged 


10  SKETCH  OF  CONNECTICUT, 

by  the  best  education  which    this  country  afforded,  had 
pursued  its  scientific  researches  in  Europe,  and  become 
exalted  both  by  extensive  knowledge,  and  rational  piety. 
It  was  his  pleasure  to  employ  his  wealth  in  the  relief  of 
indigence,  and  the  encouragement  of  enterprise.     He  was 
early  revered  as  the  patron  of  merit  in  obscurity,  and  his 
name    is  still  enrolled  by  the  grateful  town  which  gave 
him  birth,  as  first  in  the  list  of  its  benefactors.     United 
in  the  warmth  of  his  earliest  affections  to  a  kindred  spirit, 
they  shared  all  the  blessings  of  a  perfect  union  of  hearts. 
Many  years  of  conjugal  felicity  had  been  their  portion. 
But  she  was  at   length  appointed  to  watch  the  progress 
of  a  protracted  and  fatal  disease,  and  to  mark  with    still 
keener  anguish  the  mental  decay  of  him  who  had  been  her 
instructer  and  counsellor.     "  I  have  seen  an  end  of  all 
perfection,"  she  said,  as   his   strong  and  brilliant  pow 
ers  yielded  to  the   sway  of  sickness  and  when  she  bent  in 
agony  over  his  grave,  she  put  her  trust  in  the  widow's 
God.     The  earlier  part  of  their  union  had  seen  three 
sons  rising  like  olive-plants  around  their  table.  The  eldest 
exhibited  at  the  age  of  seven  a  precocity  of  intellect,  and  i 
maturity  of  character,  which  at  once  astonished  and  de 
lighted  the  beholder.     To  store  his  memory  with  moral 
and  sublime   passages,  to  sit  a  solitary  student  over  his 
book,  to  request  explanations  of  subjects  beyond  his  rea 
son,  were  his  pleasures.     The  sports  of  his  cotemporaries 
were  emptiness  to  him,  and  while  he  forebore  to  censure, 
he  withdrew  himself  from  them.     Within  his  reflecting 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  11 

mind,  was  a  desire  to  render  himself  acceptable  to  his 
Maker.  Though  younger  than  the  Jewish  king,  who,  at 
the  age  of  eight  years,  separated  himself  for  the  search 
of  wisdom,  he  began  like  him  to  "  seek  the  God  of  his 
Fathers."  When  he  requested  from  his  parents  their 
nightly  blessing  to  hallow  his  repose,  he  often  inquired, 
with  an  interesting  solemnity,  "  Do  you  think  that  my 
Father  in  Heaven  will  be  pleased  with  me  this  day  ? 
To  a  soul  thus  embued  with  the  principles  of  religion,  it 
was  sufficient  to  point  out  that  the  path  of  duty  was  illu 
mined  with  the  smile  of  the  Almighty,  and  to  deter  from 
the  courses  of  evil,  by  the  assurance  of  his  displeasure. 

The  second  had  a  form  of  graceful  symmetry,  and  a 
complexion  of  feminine  delicacy.  The  tones  of  his  voice 
promised  to  attain  the  melting  richness  of  his  mother's,  as 
a  bud  resembles  the  perfect  flower.  He  possessed  that 
rapid  perception,  and  tremulous  sensibility,  which  betok 
en  genius.  His  character,  even  in  infancy,  displayed 
those  delicate  involutions,  and  keen  vibrations  of  feeling, 
which  mark  the  most  poignant  susceptibility  of  pleasure 
or  of  pain.  His  was  the  spirit  on  which  the  unfeeling 
world  delights  to  wreak  her  tyranny  ;  as  the  harsh  hand 
shivers  the  harp-strings  which  it  has  not  skill  to  controul. 

The  youngest,  just  completing  his  third  year,  was  the 
picture  of  health,  vigour  and  joy.  His  golden  curls  cluster 
ed  round  a  bold  forehead  which  spoke  the  language  of 
command,  like  some  infant  warrior.  His  erect  head,  and 
prominent  chest,  evinced  uncommon  strength,  and  so  full 


12  SKETCH    OF    CONNECTICUT. 

of  glee  was  this  happy  and  beautiful  being,  that  the 
mansion  or  its  precincts  rang,  from  morning  till  night, 
with  the  clamour  of  his  sports,  or  the  shouts  of  his  laughter. 
Active,  unwearied,  and  intelligent,  he  seemed  to  bear, 
within  his  breast,  and  upon  his  brow,  the  consciousness 
that  he  was  one  of  the  lords  of  creation. 

On  these  three  objects  the  affection  and  solicitude  of 
the  parents  centered.  Often  they  spake  to  each  other  of 
their  differing  lineaments  of  character,  consulted  on  the 
methods  of  eradicating  what  was  defective,  or  confirming 
what  was  lovely,  and  often  contemplated  the  part  they 
might  hereafter  act  in  life,  with  a  thrilling  mixture  of  fear 
and  of  hope.  But  for  this  anxiety  it  had  been  written,  in 
the  infinite  councils,  that  there  was  no  need.  In  one  week, 
all  these  beloved  beings  were  laid  in  the  grave.  In  one 
weck,  and  the  arms  of  the  mourning  parents  remained 
forever  vacant.  Death,  whose  "  shadow  is  without  or 
der,''  respected  in  this  awful  instance  the  claims  of  priori 
ty.  He  first  smote  the  eldest  at  his  studies.  His  languishing 
was  short.  "  I  go  to  my  Father  in  Heaven,"  he  said,  and 
without  a  struggle  ceased  to  breathe.  His  disease  was 
so  infectious,  that  it  was  necessary  to  commit  him  im 
mediately  to  the  earth. 

As  the  bereaved  parents  returned  from  his  grave,  of 
whom  they  had  said,  "  this  same  shall  comfort  us  concern 
ing  all  our  toil,"  they  found  the  second,  bowing,  like  a 
pale  flowret  upon  its  broken  stem.  Pain  fed  upon  his  fraii 
frame,  "  as  a  moth  fretting  a  garment."  Anguish  visit- 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  13 

ed,  and  tried  every  nerve,  yet,  if  he  might  but  lay  his 
head  upon  his  mother's  bosom,  he  would  endure  without 
repining.  Tears  quivered  in  his  soft,  blue  eyes,  like  dew 
in  the  bell  of  the  hyacinth,  if  she  were  no  longer  visible. 
Yet,  when  in  a  moment  she  returned,  a  smile  of  the  spirit 
would  beam  through,  and  rule  the  convulsions  of  physical 
agony.  "My  son,"  said  his  father,  "let  us  be  willing  that  you 
should  go  to  your  Saviour,  and  to  your  brother  in  heaven." 
But  the  suffering  child,  who  could  imagine  no  heaven 
brighter  than  the  indulgence  of  his  own  young  affections, 
sighed  incessantly  as  death  approached.  Yet  his  convuls 
ed  brow  resumed  partial  tranquillity,  when  his  mother's 
voice  poured  forth,  in  trembling,  agonizing  harmony,  the 
sacred  music  of  the  hymn  he  loved.  It  was  then  that  he 
breathed  away  his  spirit,  fancying  that  angels  hastened 
him  to  rise,  and  learn  their  celestial  melodies.  But,  ere 
his  heart  ceased  to  throb,  the  destroyer  had  laid  his  hand 
upon  the  youngest,  "  the  beautiful,  the  brave."  Uncon 
sciousness  miserably  changed  a  countenance,  which  was 
ever  lighted  by  the  glow  of  intelligence,  or  the  gladness  of 
mirth.  Unbroken  sleep  seemed  settling  without  resist 
ance  upon  him,  who  had  never  been  willing  even  for  a 
moment  to  be  at  rest.  Yet  nature  on  the  eve  of  dissolu 
tion  aroused  to  an  afflicting  contest  with  her  conqueror. 
Cries  and  struggles  were  long  and  violent,  and  now  and 
then  a  reproachful  glance  would  be  bent  upon  his  parents, 
as  if  the  victim  wondered  they  should  lend  no  aid  to  his 
conflict. 


H  SKETCH    OP   CONNECTICUT, 

Cold,  big  drops  started  thick  upon  his  temples,  and  his 
golden  hair  streamed  with  the  dews  of  pain.  It  was  a  fear 
ful  sight  to  see  a  child  so  struggle  with  the  king  of  terrors. 
\t  length  with  one  long  sob  he  yielded,  and  moaning  sank 
to  rest. 

The  little  white  monument  still  marks  the  couch  of  the 
three  brothers.  Its  silence  is  eloquent  on  the  uncertainty 
of  the  hopes  of  man — on  the  bitterness  that  tinges  the 
brightest  fountains  of  his  joy. 

Such  were  the  adversities  to  which  the  heart  of  Madam 

L had  been  subjected.     Her  blossoms  had  been  riven 

from  her,  as  a  fig-tree  shaketh  its  untimely  figs  before  the 
blast.  An  affecting  memorial  of  her  feelings,  at  this  peri 
od,  is  still  preserved,  where,  in  a  poetical  form,  she  pours 
out  her  sorrows  before  Him  who  had  afflicted  her,  and 
urges  with  the  most  afflicting  earnestness,  that  her  spirit 
may  not  lose  the  benefits  of  his  discipline.  After  the  calm 
ness  of  resignation  had  soothed  the  tumult  of  woe,  she 
seldom  spoke  of  her  griefs.  She  kept  them  sacred  for  the 
communication  of  her  soul  with  its  Maker.  \ret  they  dif 
fused  over  her  cheerful  and  faithful  discharge  of  duty,  ; 
a  softness,  a  sympathy  with  those  who  mourned,  a  serene 
detachment  of  confidence  from  terrestrial  things,  which 
realized  the  tender  description  of  a  recent,  moral  poet  : 

u  \\rhen  the  wounds  of  woe  are  healing, 

"  When  the  heart  is  all  resign'd, 
'Tis  the  solemn  feast  of  feeling,  A^  . 

'Tisthe  Sabbath  of  the  mind.'' 


CHAPTER  II. 

;*  The  toil-worn  Cotter  from  his  labour  goes— 
This  night  his  weekly  moil  is  at  an  end  ; 
Collects  his  spades,  his  mattocks,  and  his  hoes, 
Hoping  the  morn  in  ease  and  rest  to  spend  ; 
And  weary  o'er  the  moor  his  course  doth  homeward  bend." 
Burns'1  Colter's  Saturday  Night. 

OUR  sketch,  commences  at  the  opening  of  the  year 
1784.  Winter  had  subtracted  from  the  charms  of  the 
landscape,  by  substituting  for  its  variegated  garniture  a 
robe  of  uniform  hue.  It  had,  like  the  envious  brethren 
of  Joseph,  "  rent  the  coat  of  many  colours."  Still,  the 
brightness  of  the  pure  white  surface,  the  conical  mounds 
which  attested  the  play  of  the  elements,  the  incrustations 
clinging  in  every  fanciful  form  to  boughs  sparkling  with 
the  beams  of  morning,  gave  brilliancy  to  scenery,  which 
more  favouring  seasons  had  forsaken. 

The  war  of  revolution,  which  for  a  long  period  had 
drained  the  resources  of  the  country,  had  been  termina 
ted  for  a  space  of  somewhat  more  than  two  years.  The 
British  Colonies  of  America  were  numbered  among  the 
nations.  The  first  tumults  of  joy  subsiding,  discovered  a 
government  not  organized,  and  resting  upon  insecure 
foundations.  Gold  might  be  discerned  among  the  mate 
rials  of  the  future  temple,  but  the  hand  of  a  refiner  was 
needed,  "  to  purge  the  dross,  and  to  take  away  all  the 


16  SKETCH   OF    CONNECTICUT, 

tin."  Light  had  sprung  from  chaos  ;  but  the  voice  of  the 
Architect,  had  not  yet  caused  "  the  day-spring  to  know 
his  place." 

In  Connecticut,  the  agitation,  which  pervaded  the  gen 
eral  council  of  the  nation,  was  unknown.  The  body  of  the 
people  trusted  in  the  wisdom  of  those  heroes  and  sages  of 
whom  they  had  furnished  their  proportion.  They  believ 
ed  that  the  hands,  which  had  been  strengthened  to  lay  the 
foundation  of  their  liberty,  amid  the  tempest  of  war,  would 
be  enabled  to  complete  the  fabric,  beneath  the  smiles  of 
peace.  In  gratitude,  and  quietness  of  spirit,  they  rested 
beneath  the  shadow  of  their  own  vine  ;  and  had  they  pos 
sessed  "  no  law,  would  have  been  a  law  unto  them 
selves." 

We  return  to  N ,  which  might  be  considered,  at 

this  period,  the  stronghold  of"  steady  habits,"  and  mod 
erated  desires.  The  family  of  Madam  L was  usually 

enlivened  by  the  residence  of  some  of  her  relations.  The 
daughter  of  a  beloved  sister  had  been  adopted  by  her, 
soon  after  the  death  of  her  three  sons.  She  had  taken 

a  maternal  pleasure  in  superintending  the   unfolding  of 

•i 
a  character,  whose  maturity  afforded  her  the  consolations 

of  an  endearing  intercourse.  A  heart  of  sensibility — a 
rapid  and  strong  intellect—superiority  in  those  attain 
ments  of  her  sex,  which  give  comfort  and  elegance  to  the 
domestic  department — a  liberal  soul,  indignant  at  mean 
ness  and  oppression,  and  imbued  with  deep  reverence  to 
wards  God,  were  the  characteristics  of  this  object  of  her 


FORTY    YEARS   SINCE.  1? 

affections.  She  depended  much  upon  this  g  entle  and  zeal 
ous  companion,  during  the  mental  decay  of  her  husband  ; 
but,  soon  after  his  decease,  shuddered  as  she  remarked 
the  pale  cheek  and  hollow  eye  of  this  dear  friend,  whose 
delicate  frame  was  gradually  resigning  the  elasticity  of 
health. 

All  the  powers  of  medicine  were  exerted  to  mitigate 
the  sufferings  of  a  long,  nervous  consumption  ;  until  at 
tenuated  like  a  shadow,  her  mind  still  gathering  bright 
ness  amid  the  wasting  of  its  tabernacle,  her  spirit  was 
"  exhal'd,  and  went  to  heaven."  This  bereavement  was 
recent,  and  the  heart  of  the  aged  mourner  felt  a  deep 
void,  whenever  her  eye  rested  upon  the  places  usually 
occupied  by  this  daughter  and  friend. 

She  was  now  soothed  by  the  society  of  a  son  of  her 
husband's  only  sister,  who,  since  the  death  of  his  uncle, 
had  made  her  house  his  home,  except  during  an  interval 
of  absence  in  England  and  France.  His  accurate  mind, 
stored  with  knowledge,  which  a  wide  sphere  of  observa 
tion  had  given  him  the  means  of  acquiring,  rendered  him 
both  an  interesting  and  instructive  companion.  Nor  did 
he  forget  to  profit  from  those  treasures  of  wisdom,  which 
he  daily  beheld  falling  from  the  lips  of  age.  He  was  par 
ticularly  fond  of  the  science  of  Natural  History,  and  of 
exploring  those  labyrinths  in  which  nature  delights  to  in 
volve  her  operations,  where  she  has  made  man,  both  the 
habitant  of  a  region  of  wonders,  and  a  link  in  their  mys 
terious  chain.  His  aged  relative,  whom  he  revered  as  a 
2* 


18  SKETCH   OF   CONNECTICUT, 

parent,  and  by  whom  his  attachment  was  reciprocated, 
used  familiarly  to  style  him  her  "philosophical  nephew. ?> 
By  the  light-minded,  he  was  considered  reserved,  and  by 
the  ignorant,  haughty  ;  but  those,  who  were  worthy  to 
comprehend  him,  discovered  a  heart,  alive  to  the  impul 
ses  of  friendship  and  affection,  and  a  mind,  occupied  in  3 
tissue  of  thought  too  intricate  for  vulgar  comprehension  : 
or  balancing  the  delicate  and  almost  imperceptible  points 
of  moral  principle. 

Besides  this  nephew^    the   family  of  Madam  L 

comprised,  at  the  present  time,  only  herself,  and  two  do 
mestics.  These  were  blacks,  and  descendants  of  ances 
tors  who  had  originally  been  slaves,  before  the  voice  of  a 
wise  and  free  people  decreed  the  abolition  of  slavery. 
Several  Africans  had  been  owned  by  the  father  of  her  hus 
band,  in  whose  family  she  had  become  an  inmate  at  the 
time  of  her  marriage.  His  death  took  place,  at  the  advanc 
ed  age  of  ninety-two,  while  his  frame  still  possessed  vigour, 
and  his  unimpaired  mind  expatiated  freely  upon  the  past, 
and  looked  undaunted  toward  the  future.  Temperance 
had  guarded  his  health,  and  economy  the  fortune,' which 
his  industry  had  acquired.  Religion  had  been  his  anchor 
from  his  youth,  sure  and  stedfast ;  arid,  with  the  dignity 
of  a  patriarch,  he  descended  to  the  tomb,  illustrious  at 
once,  by  the  good  name  he  bequeathed  to  his  offspring, 
and  by  the  lustre  which  their  virtues  in  turn,  reflected 
upon  him.  He  lived  at  a  time,  when  to  hold  in  servitude 
<he  children  of  Africa,  had  not  been  set  in  a  true  light  by 


FORTY   YEARS   SINCE.  19 

the  eloquence  and  humanity  of  a  more  favoured  age. 
Clarkson,  and  Wilberforce  had  not  then  arisen  to  unlock 
"  indignantly  the  secrets  of  their  prison-house,"  nor  Cow- 
per,  to  bid  the  eye  of  sensibility  weep  over  their  wrongs. 
In  the  community,  where  the  lot  of  this  venerable  patri 
arch  had  been  cast,  they  were  found  in  the  families  of  a 
few  men  of  wealth,  nurtured  as  dependants,  but  never  op 
pressed  as  slaves.  Under  his  roof  they  were  treated  with 
uniform  kindness,  and  after  the  accession  of  his  son  to  the 
paternal  estate,  received  their  freedom. 

Two  descendants  of  these  "  servants  born  in  the  house," 
still  continued  with  Madam  L — ,  one  as  a  hireling,  the 
other  for  the  sake  of  his  clothing,  board  and  education, 
until  his  minority  should  cease.  Beulah,  who  had  reach- 
her  twenty-second  winter,  was  an  athletic,  industrious  fe 
male,  grave  in  her  deportment,  and  ofstrict  honesty.  Cuff, 
herbrother,  was  her  junior  by  six  years,  active,  and  of  an 
affectionate  disposition,  with  some  mixture  of  African  hu 
mour.  Both  were  attached  to  their  mistress,  like  the 
vassals  of  feudal  times,  regarding  her  as  "  but  a  little 
lower  than  the  angels."  She  cherished  their  unaffected 
regard,  by  a  sway  of  equanimity,  and  gentleness,  profes 
sing  herself  to  be,  like  the  Vricar  of  Wakefield,  an  "  ad 
mirer  of  happy  human  faces." 

It  was  now  Saturday  night,  and  the  setting  sun  ushered 
in  that  stillness  which  used  to  mark  its  return,  forty  years 
since,  in  Connecticut.  Every  ware-house,  and  shop  was 
ihut,  and  man,  like  the  creation  around  him,  seemed 


20  SKETCH   OF    CONNECTICUT. 

relapsing  into  quietness  and  repose.  There  was  some 
thing  both  soothing  and  dignified  in  the  solemnity  with 
which  this  period  was  then  observed.  Labour  and  revelry 
were  alike  laid  aside,  and  a  pause  of  silence  announced 
the  approach  of  that  day,  which  the  Creator  consecrated. 

It  seemed  like  the  deference  of  a  reflecting  spirit,  con 
scious  that  its  habitual  vocations  were  earthly,  and  un 
willing,  without  purifying  itself  from  their  defilement,  tc 
rush  into  those  services,  which,  to  be  acceptable,  are 
required  to  be  holy.  It  was  like  the  change  of  garments 
of  the  Levitical  priesthood,  ere  they  entered  the  Sanctua 
ry.  Our  puritanic  fathers  then  said  to  their  worldly  cares, 
as  Abraham  to  his  servants  at  the  base  of  Mount  Moriah, 
"  abide  ye  here,  while  I  go  yonder  and  worship." 

They  maintained  that,  if  according  to  scripture,  the 
evening  and  the  morning  constituted  the  first  day,  the 
Sabbath  embraced  the  preceding  evening  within  its  ap 
pointed  limits.  So  strictly  did  they  enjoin  the  sanctifi- 
cation  of  Saturday  night,  that  it  might  be  said  of  them  in 
that  season,  as  it  was  of  the  Egyptians  during  their  tem 
pest  of  hail,  "  he  who  feared  the  word  of  the  Lord,  made 
his  servants,  and  his  cattle  flee  into  their  house."  The 
penal  laws,  which  guarded  the  observance  of  the  Sabbath 
among  our  ancestors  at  the  first  settlement  of  this  country, 
had  relaxed  in  their  severity.  Still,  to  travel  on  that  day 
was  considered  an  offence,  meriting  close  examination 
from  those  vested  with  authority  and  ending  in  restraint, 
unless  the  sickness  or  distress  of  distant  relations  sanction- 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  2 

ed  the  measure.  "  Sunday  airings, "were  then  unknown, 
and  would  have  been  deemed  an  "  iniquity  to  be  punish 
ed  by  the  judges."  So  fully  had  the  saint-like  simplicity 
of  our  predecessors  embued  Saturday  eve  with  the  sanctity 
of  the  subsequent  morn,  that  seldom  were  the  wheels  of 
the  traveller,  or  his  voice,  asking  admission  at  the  inns, 
known  to  disturb  the  silence  of  this  hallowed  period.  La 
bourers  restored  to  their  places  the  instruments  of  their 
weekly  toil ;  mechanics  the  implements  of  their  trade  ; 
students  their  books  of  entertainment ;  and  "  every  good 
man  and  true,"  was  supposed  to  be  convening  his  fami 
ly  around  the  domestic  altar. 

In  the  parlour  of  Madam  L — ,  this  was  a  season  of  solita 
ry  and  heartfelt  meditation.  The  reflection  of  a  clear  wood- 
fire  gleamed  fitfully  upon  the  crimson  moreen  curtains, 
gilded  clock,  ebony-framed  mirror,  and  polished  wain 
scot,  ere  light  glimmered  more  brightly  from  two  stately, 
antiquated  candlesticks.  The  lady  was  seated  in  her 
rocking-chair,  which  stood  in  its  accustomed  corner.  A 
favourite  grey-robed  cat,  with  neck  and  paws  of  the  most 
exquisite  whiteness,  sat  at  the  feet  of  her  mistress,  gazing 
wistfully  in  her  face.  Slowly  erecting  herself,  she  ad 
vanced  a  soft  velvet  paw  to  the  hand  which  rested  upon 
the  arm  of  the  chair,  as  if  to  remind  its  owner  of  ancient 
friendship,  or  claim  some  expression  of  fondness.  Finding 
herself  unnoticed,  she  removed  her  station  to  a  green 
cushion  in  the  vicinity,  and  turning  round  thrice,  betook 


22  SKETCH   OF   CONNECTICUT, 

herself  to  repose,  in  the  attitude  of  a  caterpiller,  coiled 
upon  a  fresh  verdant  leaf. 

On  a  small  found  table,  lay  the  Scriptures  and  "  Young's 
Night  Thoughts,"  the  favourite  poem  of  Madam  L — .  The 
latter  was  open  at  that  canto,  where  the  author  so  feel 
ingly  describes  the  loss  of  friends,  and  her  spectacles  laid 
therein,  as  if  to  preserve  some  striking  passage  for  fur 
ther  perusal,  while  she  indulged  in  those  contemplation? 
which  it  awakened.  Her  brow  resting  on  her  hand,  dis 
played  the  emotions  of  a  soul,  whose  strong  susceptibility 
the  influences  of  religion  had  tempered,  purified,  subli 
mated.  Before  her,  past  in  review,  the  pictured  scenes 
of  childhood,  the  gaiety  of  youth,  the  sorrows  of  maturi 
ty,  the  loneliness  of  age.  Memory  awoke  Grief  from  the 
slumber  into  which  time  had  soothed  her,  and  revived 
her  long  buried  energies.  The  mourner  seemed  to  see 
her  mother,  the  soft  nurse  of  her  infancy,  the  watchful 
monitress  of  her  childhood,  again  smitten  by  an  unseen 
hand,  and  covered  suddenly  with  the  paleness  of  the 
tomb  :  one  moment,  bending  over  her  plants,  in  the  sweet 
recesses  of  her  garden,  the  next,  lying  lifeless  among  them, 
blasted  by  Him  who  maketh  all  the  "  glory  of  man,  as 
the  flower  of  grass." 

Her  father,  venerable  for  years,  and  high  in  publick 
honour,  was  again  stretched  before  her,  in  the  agonies  of 
dissolving  nature.  Once  more,  his  farewell  tone  falter 
ed  on  her  ear,  as  she  wiped  the  dews  from  his,  temples, 
"  My  daughter  I  visit  the  fatherless,  and  the  widow  in 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  23 

their  afflictions,  and  keep  thyself  unspotted  from  the 
world."  Her  faithful  obedience  to  this  admonition,  utter 
ed  from  the  confines  of  another  state,  might  have  cheered 
her  heart,  had  it  been  wont  to  linger  amid  the  recollections 
of  its  own  virtue.  The  tissue  of  her  good  deeds,  which 
was  extolled  by  others  as  woven  by  a  perfect  hand,  she 
was  accustomed  so  to  scan,  as  to  administer  to  her  hu 
mility. 

Such  influence  had  imagination  in  this  hour  of  excited 
feeling,  that  almost,  her  husband,  the  companion  of  her 
youth,  seemed  present,  in  his  accustomed  seat  by  her 
side.  In  fancy,  she  gazed  upon  his  mild  features,  radiant 
with  the  beams  of  intelligence.  Half  she  listened  to  his 
voice,  explaining  the  axioms  of  science,  or  pouring  forth 
the  spirit  of  benevolence.  Then  came  the  prattling  tones 
of  children,  the  smile,  the  sport,  the  winning  attitudes 
of  those  three  boys,  who  returned  no  more.  But  illusion 
vanished,  and  more  bitterly  than  her  melancholy  poet, 
she  might  have  apostrophized  the  grim  conqueror  ; 

"  Thy  dart  flew  thrice  and  thrice  my  peace  was  slain, 
And  thrice,  ere  thrice,  yon  moon  had  fi ll'd  her  horn." 

Yet  no  repiaing  mingled  with  her  sorrow.  She  loved 
Him  who  had  chastened  her  ;  and  raising  upward  eyes, 
whose  pure  azure  shone  through  the  big  tear,  she  uttered 
in  the  low  tone  of  mental  devotion,  "  I  thank  Thee  that 
I  am  not  alone,  for  Thou  art  with  me."  Tenderly  im 
pressed  by  a  renovation  of  her  woes,  yet  gratefully  revolv 
ing  the  short  space  which  separated  her  from  her  beloved, 


24  SKETCH    OF   CONNECTICUT, 

her  sa  nted  ones — she  sang  in  tones  of  the  gentlest  melody 
;hat  beautiful  hymn  of  Watts — 

"  There  is  a  land  of  pure  delight, 

Where  saints  immortal  reign  ; 
Infinite  day  excludes  the  night, 

And  pleasures  banish  pain." 

At  its  close,  she  relapsed  into  a  train  of  animating,  de 
votional  contemplations,  admirably  fitting  the  mind  for 
the  duties  of  that  day,  on  which  the  Redeemer,  whom 
she  loved,  ascended  from  the  tomb. 

Around  the  fire  of  her  domestics,  quietness  and  com 
fort,  though  of  a  different  nature,  predominated.  The 
clean-washed  floor,  well-brush'd  shoes,  and  preparations 
for  a  Sunday's  dinner,  shewed  that  the  householders  of 
that  time  provided,  in  their  domestic  regulations,  that 
their  servants  also  might  attend  the  worship  of  the  sanc 
tuary,  and  enjoy  the  privileges  of  a  day  of  rest.  Neatness 
and  order,  in  which  the  ancient  house-keeping  matrons 
certainly  yield  not  the  palm  to  their  daughters,  or  grand 
daughters,  prevailed  throughout  the  simply-furnished 
apartment.  The  dressers,  unpainted,  but  as  white  as  the 
nature  of  the  wood  permitted  them  to  be,  sustained  the 
weight  of  rows  of  pewter,  emulous  of  silver  in  its  beau 
tiful  lustre. 

A  long  oaken  table  in  their  vicinity,  once  used  at  refec 
tions,  when  the  family  comprised  many  more  members, 
but  now  summoned  to  do  service  only  on  ironing  days, 
emitted  as  much  lustre  as  the  strength  of  a  brawny  arm 


FORTY   YEARS   SINCE.  25 

viaily  applied  to  its  surface,  could  produce.  A  heavy 
oaken  cupboard,  the  sound  of  whose  opening  doors  was 
music  to  the  mendicant,  and  the  neighbouring  poor,  and 
five  or  six  tall  chairs,  wjth  rush  bottoms,  completed  the 
furniture.  A  wooden  seat  or  sofa,  commonly  called  a 
settle,  was  immoveably  fixed,  not  far  from  the  ample  ex 
panse  of  the  fire-place-  Over  the  mantle-piece,  was  a 
high  and  narrow  shelf,  which,  at  its  western  extremity, 
was  multiplied  into  a  triple  ro%  of  shorter  ones  ;  forming 
a  repository  for  a  servant's  library.  This  was  composed 
principally  of  pamphlet  sermons,  or  what  was  considered 
Sunday  reading — ere  the  writer  of  novels  had  engrossed 
that  department.  Approximating  to  this  library,  hung  the 
roasting-jack ;  which,  when  put  in  motion,  with  its  com 
plicated  machinery  extending  from  garret  to  cellar,  alarm 
ed  the  unlearned  by  its  discordant  sounds,  and  awoke 
in  the  minds  of  the  superstitious  some  indefinite  suspicion 
of  the  agency  of  evil  spirits.  On  the  broad  hearth-stone, 
sat  Beulah  and  her  brother  ;  the  former,  in  token  of  seni 
ority  occupying  the  post  of  honour,  in  front  of  a  blazing 
fire  ;  the  latter,  with  due  decorum  ensconced  in  a  corner. 
The  brow  of  the  ebon  damsel  exhibited  a  more  than  usual 
cast  of  solemnity,  by  way  of  testifying  respect  to  a  New- 
Testament,  on  whose  pages  her  eyes  were  devoutly  fixed. 
Cuffee  regarded  her  for  some  minutes,  as  if  doubtful 
whether  an  interruption  of  "her  studies  would  be  tolerat 
ed.  At  length,  with  a  long  yawn,  he  hazarded  the  experi 
ment,  of  expatiating  on  the  excellence  of  the  supper  hp 
'  3 


26  SKETCH   OF    CONNECTICUT, 

had  recently  eaten.  To  distinguish  Saturday  night,  by 
a  dish  of  beans  baked  with  pork,  was  one  of  the  peculiar 
ities  of  their  native  town.  Many  of  the  oldest  householder;- 
could  recollect  no  instance  in  w|)ich  this  ancient  custom 
had  been  violated  beneath  their  roof  ;  and  children  some 
times  formed  an  inseparable  connection  in  their  minds, 
between  this  prelusive  dish,  and  the  duties  of  the  Sab 
bath.  The  inhabitants  still  preserve  this  usage  of  their 
ancestors,  as  faithfully  as  tHe  sons  of  Rechab  transmitted 
his  prohibition  of  wine  to  their  remote  posterity.  Cuflec. 
rinding  his  exordium  unchecked,  proceeded  to  relate  witi: 
proportionable  astonishment,  that  once  within  the  memory 
of  an  aged  man  of  his  own  colour,  the  Saturday-night 
Statute-act  was  violated,  at  the  inn  where  he  was  a  ser 
vitor. 

"  Next  morniri,"  said  he,  elevating  his  eyes  with  be 
coming  gravity,  "  next  mornin,  they  ebery  soul  forget  it 
be  Sabba-day.  They  go  "bout  their  work — wash,  scour 
— Misse  take  her  knitten-work — Massa  write  his  'counts 
— Brister  go  to  barn — thrash  grain." 

He  described  their  utter  consternation,  when  the  bell    I 
from  an  adjoining  steeple  reminded   them  of  their  trans 
gression  ;  and  the  haste  with  which  the}'  made  themselves 
ready  to  appear  in  the  sanctuary. 

He  next  proceeded  to  state,  on  the  authority  of  a  young 
man  of  his  acquaintance,  the  dire  disasters  which  befel  his 
father's  household,  for  a  similar  omission.  Their  resi 
dence  was  on  Bean-hill,  a  section  of  the  town,  where  this 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  27 

important  article  is  required  to  appear  on  the  table,  twice 
in  a  week,  on  the  evenings  of  Wednesday  and  Saturday. 
This  ordinance,  it  seems,  had  but  once  been  neglected 
since  the  building  of  their  house.  That  night,  a  strange 
uproar  awoke  eviery  member  of  the  family,  and  frightful 
dreams  disturbed  their  repose.  Lo !  in  the  morning,  their 
culinary  furnace  was  found  prostrate,  and  every  brick 
dislodged  from  its  station  ;  as  if  invisible  agents  had  as 
sumed  the  punishment  of  the  offence.  Cuffee,  though 
somewhat  diffuse  in  his  narrations,  drew  no  sign  of  atten 
tion  from  his  sister,  who  greatly  valued  herself  upon  a 
solemn  deportment  at  devotional  seasons.  At  length, 
slowly  rolling  towards  him  an  eye,  where  white  remarkably 
predominated,  she  inquired  ino  the  nature  of  the  book, 
which  he  held  unopened  in  his  hand. 

"  Catechize,"  he  replied,  with  the  tone  of  an  indolent 
boy  at  school,  equally  reluctant  to  study,  or  to  recite  his 
lesson.  But  Beulah,  moved  with  righteous  zeal,  drew 
her  chair  into  a  line  with  his,  and  enveloping  the  volume 
in  her  huge  hand,  took  it  from  him  with  no  gentle  grasp. 

By  dint  of  spelling,  she  rendered  the  title-page  vocal, 
which  proved  to  be,  "  The  Scholar's  Introduction  to  the 
Science  of  Arithmetic.  By  Master  Edward  Cocker." 

"  That's  a  Catechise-Book,  I  s'pose  !"  she  exclaimed 
with  commendable  asperity.  Her  brother  hastily  pro 
ceeded  to  justify  himself,  on  the  ground  of  a  mistake 
made  in  the  volume,  before  the  candle  was  lighted. 
Wishing  however  to  divert  attention  from  this  view  of  the 


28  SKETCH   OF   CONNECTICUT. 

subject,  he  descanted  upon  the  carelessness  of  the  owne* 
of  this  ancient  volume,  who  had  torn  sundry  leaves,  besides 
decorating  the  blank  spaces  with  ill-drawn  pictures,  and 
blots.  He  repeated  a  quaint  saying,  purporting  that  those 
who  deface  their  books,  have  within  them  that  principle 
of  carelessness,  which  leads  to  want  and  disgrace.  To 
bis  expressions  of  wonder  that  the  name  of  "  Benedict 
Arnold,"  so  often  occurred,  in  almost  illegible  scrawls, 
Beulah  replied  that  this  was  the  book,  which  taught  the 
elements  of  arithmetic  to  the  traitor  of  that  name,  who 
resided  in  that  house  for  several  years,  as  one  of  the 
clerks  of  her  deceased  master.  Unable  to  resist  the. 
tempation  of  displaying  superiour  knowledge,  her  pious 
taciturnity  vanished.  She  spoke  eloquently  of  his  enor 
mities  in  burning  a  neighbouring  town,  and  putting  to 
death  all  the  brave  defenders  of  the  fort ;  many  of  whom 
had  been  his  acquaintance,  and  friends.  She  complained 
that,  after  landing  on  the  devoted  spot,  and  dining  with  a 
worthy  lady,  who  took  great  pains  for  his  accommodation, 
he  ordered  her  house  to  be  the  first  set  on  fire. 

She  described  the  men  of  her  native  place,  marching  * 
to  the  relief  of  their  distressed  neighbours,  as  soon  as  the 
sound  of  the  cannon  reached  them,  and  their  wives  and 
daughters  weeping  at  the  doors  and  windows,  as  they 
departed.  In  enlarging  upon  the  losses  sustained  by  the 
conflagration  of  so  many  buildings,  she  could  not  avoid 
descanting  upon  the  quantity  of  eatables  that  were  de 
stroyed,  especially  the  "  oceans  of  butter  and  lard," 


FORTY    YEARS   SINCE. 

which  were  seen  frying  in  the  cellars  ;  naturally  feeling: 
strongest  sympathy  for  the  waste  of  those  condiments, 
which  in  her  culinary  art  she  most  highly  valued.  But  she 
dwelt  with  the  deepest  interest  upon  an  exploit  of  a  female 
of  her  own  colour,  with  whom  she  profest  a  particular 
acquaintance,  calling  her  Aunt  Rose.  It  seems  that  Ar 
nold,  fatigued  with  the  contest,  had  paused  to  quench  his 
battle-thirst  at  a  well.  As  he  stooped  over  it,  this  ebon 
heroine,  who  had  been  commissioned  to  hold  his  horse, 
made  some  questionable  advances  towards  him,  and  had 
actually  grasped  his  ancles,  to  precipitate  him  into  the 
pit.  Proving  unsuccessful  in  her  enterprize,  she  found 
it  expedient  to  withdraw  with  unusual  despatch. 

"  That  very  night,"  subjoined  Beulah,  "Aunt  Rose,  hab 
most  remarkable  dream.  She  'tink  she  die,  and  go  rite 
to  Heaven.  All  beautiful  place,  no  hard  work  dere. 
Presently  come  in,  her  Misse,  and  all  her  darters  lookin 
exceedin  grand.  "  Where  Rose  ?"  they  cry.  "  Tell 
her  get  supper."  Aunt  Rose  feel  strange  courage.  She 
speak  out  to  'em,  and  say,  "  how  you  'spect  me  to  get 
supper  ?  Don't  ye  see  there's  no  kitchen  in  Heaven  ?" 
Beulah  then  launched  into  a  new  tide  of  invective, 
against  the  wicked  traitor,  as  she  styled  him,  until  Cuffee 
inquired  if  he  had  no  good  quality,  observing  that  his 
mistress  said,  that  \ve  should  not  forget  to  speak  of  the 
good,  as  well  as  the  evil  in  the  characters  of  our  fellow 
creatures.  The  maiden,  inly  reproved,  deigned  no  an 
swer  ;  but  suddenly  began  to  realize  that  their  conver- 


30  SKETCH   OF    CONNECTICUT. 

sation  was  too  diffuse  for  Saturday  night.  This  she  per 
ceived  much  more  readily,  when  she  herself  ceased 
to  be  the  chief  speaker.  After  a  decent  pause,  she 
explained  her  doubts  to  her  brother,  with  an  emphatic 
nasal  twang,  whether  he  had  yet  proceeded  in  the  Assem 
bly  of  Divines'  Catechism,  as  far  as  "  Effectual  Calling  ;" 
adding,  that  long  before  she  had  reached  his  age,  she  wss 
able  to  repeat  the  whole,  with  the  proofs,  and  ask  herself 
the  questions,  into  the  bargain. 

"  I  wonder,"  he  replied,  "  who  had  not  rudder  ax  dem~ 
selves  questions,  dan  hab  any  body  else.  Den  if  you  can't 
answer  'em,  no  matter ;  no  body  to  scold  'bout  it." 

The  ringing  of  the  bell,  which  on  Saturday  night,  like 
the  old  Norman  curfew,  was  always  at  eight  o'clock, 
reminded  them  that  much  time  had  been  spent,  and  until 
nine,  the  stated  hour  for  retiring,  each  seemed  absorbed 
?r»  their  respective  stnclie?. 


CHAPTER  III. 

•'  Our  kings  ! — our  fathers  1 — where  are  they ' 
An  abject  race  we  roam  ; 

And  where  our  ancient  kingdoms  Jay, 

Like  slaves  we  crouch — like  aliens  stray  ; 

Like  strangers  tarry  but  a  day, 

And  find  the  grave  our  home.'' 

IN  the  vicinity  of  the  town  which  we  have  described, 
was  the  residence  of  a  once  powerful  tribe  of  Indians, 
But  diminished  in  numbers,  and  oppressed  by  a  sense  of 
degradation,  the  survivers  exhibited  the  melancholy  rem 
nant  of  a  fallen  race,  like  the  almost  extinguished  embers 
of  a  flame,  once  terrible  in  wildness.  The  aged  remem 
bered  the  line  of  their  hereditary  kings,  now  become  ex 
tinct  ;  the  younger  preserved  in  tradition  faint  gleams  of 
the  glory  which  had  departed.  Yet,  in  the  minds  of  all, 
was  a  consciousness  that  their  ancestors  possessed  the  land, 
in  which  they  were  now  as  strangers,  and  from  whence 
their  offspring  were  vanishing,  as  a  "  guest  that  tarrieth 
but  a  night."  The  small  territory,  on  which  they  resided, 
was  secured  to  them  by  government  ;  and  its  fertile  soil 
would  have  been  more  than  adequate  to  their  wants,  had 
they  been  assiduous  in  its  cultivation.  But  those  roving 
habits,  which  form  their  national  characteristic,  are  pe 
culiarly  averse  from  the  laborious  application,  and  minute 
details  of  agriculture.  Here  and  there,  a  corn-field  with 
out  enclosure  might  be  seen,  displaying  its  yellow  treas- 


32  SKETCH   OF    CONNECTICUT, 

ures  beneath  a  ripening  sun ;  but  such  was  their  native 
improvidence,  that  the  possessor,  ere  the  return  of  another 
Autumn,  would  be  as  destitute  of  food,  as  he  who  had 
"  neither  earing  nor  harvest."  The  productions  of  a  little 
spot  of  earth,  near  the  door  of  many  of  them,  denominated 
a  garden,  supplied  them  during  the  gentler  seasons,  with 
the  more  common  vegetables  ;  yet  so  reckless  were  they 
of  futurity,  that  cold  winter's  want  was  unthought  of,  as 
long  as  it  was  unfelt,  and  the  needs  of  to-morrow  never 
disturbed  the  revel  of  to-day.  In  their  simple  estimation, 
he  was  a  man  of  wealth,  whose  dominion  extended  over 
a  cow  ;  yet  it  was  v.ealth  rather  to  be  wondered  at,  than 
envied.  To  roam  freely  over  the  forests,  and  drink  the 
pure  breath  of  the  mountains  ;  to  earn  with  their  arrow's 
point,  the  food  of  the  passing  day,  and  wrap  themselves 
in  a  blanket  from  the  chill  of  midnight,  seemed  all  the 
riches  they  coveted — all  the  happiness  they  desired. 

These  were,  however,  more  properly,  the  lineaments 
of  their  character,  in  its  native  nobleness.  Civilization 
had  excluded  them  from  the  forests,  their  original  empire, 
and  awakened  new  wants  which  they  were  inadequate  to 
supply.  It  had  familiarized  them  to  the  sight  of  the  white 
man's  comforts,  without  teaching  them  the  industry  by 
which  they  are  purchased.  It  had  introduced  them  to 
vices  which  destroyed  their  original  strength,  like  the 
syren  pointing  in  derision  to  the  humbled  Sampson,  whose 
locks  her  own  hand  had  shorn.  Thus  they  sacrificed  the 
virtues  of  their- savage  state,  and  fell  short  of  the  ad- 


FORTY  YEARS  SINCE.  33 

vantages  which  a  civilized  one  bestows ;  and  striking,  as 
it  were,  both  upon  Scylla  and  Charybdis,  made  ship 
wreck  of  all. 

Still  some  interesting  features  might  be  traced  amid  this 
assemblage  of  gloom  ;  some  individuals  remained,  around 
whom,  as  around  Philipoemon,  "  the  last  of  the  Greeks," 
gleams  of  brightness  lingered.  A  few  warriors,  who,  in 
the  contest  of  1755,  dared  death  for  the  country  which 
had  subjugated  them,  still  survived,  to  speak,  with  flash 
ing  eyes,  of  battle,  and  of  victory.  Some,  who  had  shared 
the  toils  of  that  recent  war  which  had  emancipated  from 
British  thraldom  one  who  was  to  rank  among  the  nations 
of  the  earth,  remained,  to  shew  their  wounds,  so  poorly 
requited.  Many  might  still  be  found,  in  whose  hearts, 
gratitude,  hospitality,  and  inviolable  faith,  the  ancient 
characteristics  of  their  race,  were  not  extinguished. 

But  over  the  greater  mass  hung  the  cloud  of  intem 
perance,  indolence,  and  mental  degradation.  Conscious 
ness  of  their  own  state,  and  of  the  contempt  of  others, 
presented  hopeless  obstacles  to  every  reforming  hand, 
except  His  who  brought  light  out  of  chaos.  The  dwel 
lings  of  this  dilapidated  tribe,  though  universally  in  a 
state  of  rudeness,  exhibited  considerable  variety  of  ap 
pearance.  Occasionally,  the  ancient  wigwam  might  be 
detected,  lifting  its  cone-like  head  among  the  bushes ;  then 
a  tenement  of  rough  logs,  reeking  with  smoke,  would  pre 
sent  its  more  substantial,  though  less  romantic  structure. 
Those,  which  fronted  the  road,  were  wsually  of  board?. 


34  SKETCH   OF   CONNECTICUT, 

sometimes  containing  two  rooms,  with  a  chimney  of  stones, 
and  admitting  comparative  comfort.  Trees,  loaded  with 
small  apples,  yielded  their  spontaneous  refreshment  to 
those,  who  never  cultured  the  young  sapling  when  the 
parent  stock  decayed. 

Their  situation  afforded  conveniences  for  their  favourite 
employment  of  fishing  ;  and  a  few  boats  in  their  possses- 
sion,  enabled  them  to  pursue  their  victims  into  the  deep 
waters. 

The  females  were  more  easily  initiated  into  the  habits 
of  civilized  life.  These,  they  readily  saw  diminished 
their  labours,  and  augmented  their  consequence.  StilL 
the  prerogative  of  dominion,  entrusted  to  man  by  his 
Maker,  is  tenaciously  cherished  by  the  American  Indian. 
He  slowly  yields,  to  the  courtesy  of  example,  the  custom 
of  making  his  weaker  companion  the  bearer  of  burdens, 
and  the  servant  of  his  indolence.  In  this  perishing  tribe, 
the  secondary  sex  were  far  the  most  docile,  whether 
religious  truth,  or  domestic  economy  were  the  subjects 
of  instruction. 

Still  the  distaff,  the  needle,  and  the  loom  were  less  { 
congenial  to  their  inclinations,  than  the  manufacture  of 
brooms,  mats,  and  baskets.  In  the  construction  of  the 
latter,  considerable  ingenuity  was  often  manifested  ;  and 
their  extensive  knowledge  of  the  colouring  matter,  con 
tained  in  the  juices  of  plants  and  herbs,  enabled  them 
to  adorn  these  fabrics  with  all  the  hues  of  the  rainbow. 
Bending  beneath  a  load  of  these  fabrics,  and  often  the 


FORTY    YEARS   SINCE.  35 

additional  weight  of  a  pappbose,  or  babe,  deposited  in 
a  large  basket,  and  fastened  around  the  neck  with  a  leath 
ern  strap,  might   be  seen,  walking  through  the  streets  of 
the  town,  after  a  weary  journey  from  their  own  settlement, 
the  descendants  of  the  former  lords  of  the  soil,  perhaps 
the  daughters  of  kings.     Clad  in  insufficient  apparel  after 
the   American  fashion,  with  a  little  round  bonnet  of  blue 
cloth,  in  a  shape  peculiar  to  themselves,  and  somewhat 
resembling  a  scallop-shell,  anda small  blanket  thrown  over 
,the  shoulders,  if  the  season  were  cold,  they  would  enter 
every  door  in  search  of  a  market.     There,  in  the  soft, 
harmonious  tones,  by  which  the  voice  of  the  female  na 
tive  is  distinguished,  they  would  patiently   inquire  for  a 
purchaser.     If  all  their  humble  applications  were  nega 
tived,  they  might  be  heard  requesting  in  the  same  gentle 
utterance  a  little  refreshment,  or  a  morsel  of  bread  for  the 
infant  at  their  back.     I  will  not  say  that  these  entreaties 
were  always  in  vain — but  the  poor,  famished  dog,  which 
would  be  crouching  at  the  feet  of  the  suppliant,  was  too 
happy  if  he   could  obtain  a  fleshless  bone,  to  allay  the 
cravings  of  hunger. 

These  females,  when  employed  as  they  sometimes 
were,  in  the  families  of  whites,  to  repair  worn  chairs?  were 
uniformly  industrious,  and  grateful  for  any  trifling  favour. 
In  their  own  culinary  processes,  they  were  studious  of 
comfort  as  far  as  their  rude  notions,  and  imperfect  know 
ledge  extended.  Dishes  composed  of  green  corn,  and 
beans  boiled  with  clams,  and  denominated  Succatash, 


36  SKETCH   OF    CONNECTICUT, 

the  same  grain  parched  nicely,  arid  pulverized,  by  the 
name  of  Yokeag,  fish,  or  birds,  prepared  in  different  ways, 
with  cakes  of  Indian  meal  baked  in  ashes,  or  before  the 
fire  upon  a  flat  board,  gave  variety  to  their  simple  re 
pasts. 

They  were  likewise  the  physicians  of  their  tribe.  They 
regarded  no  toil  in  travelling,  or  labour  in  searching  the 
thickets,  for  medicinal  plants  and  roots.  To  sooth  the 
agony  of  pain,  or  conquer  the  malignity  of  disease, 
was  a  victory,  which  their  affectionate  hearts  prized  more 
than  the  warrior,  who  intoxicated  with  false  glory,  boasts 
of  the  lives  he  has  destroyed.  Their  knowledge  of  aperi 
ents  and  cathartics,  was  extensive  ;  their  antidotes  to  poison 
were  also  considered  powerful,  and  their  skill  in  the 
healing  of  wounds  was  said  to  have  been  justly  valued  in 
time  of  war.  Such  were  the  females  in  their  best  estate  ; 
and  such  the  poverty  and  degeneracy  of  the  once  power 
ful  tribe  of  Mohegans. 

Yet,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  amid  their  degradation 
they  retained  strong  traits  of  national  pride.  In  the  gravi 
ty,  and  dignity  of  brow,  which  the  better  sort  assumed, 
might  be  traced  a  lingering  remnant  of  the  creed  of  their 
ancestors,  that  the  red  man  was  formed  before  his  white 
brethren,  and  of  better  clay.  The  proud  recollections  of 
royalty  were  cherished  with  peculiar  tenacity  ;  and  the 
most  distant  ramification  of  the  blood  of  their  kings,  pre 
served  in  tradition  with  all  the  Cambrian  enthusiasm.  The 
place  of  burial  for  their  monarchs  was  never  suffered  to 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  37 

be  polluted  by  the  ashes  of  the  common  people.  It  is 
still  visible,  with  its  decaying  monuments,  in  the  southern 
part  of  the  town  ;  and  its  mouldering  inscriptions  have 
appeared  in  the  records  of  recent  travellers.  A  few  years 
only  have  elapsed,  since  a  Mohegan  who  was  employed 
in  mowing,  in  the  northern  part  of  the  town,  and  a  Pequot 
who  was  passing  through  it,  both  died  on  the  same  day, 
apparently  destroyed  by  the  excessive  heat  of  the  weath 
er  ;  perhaps,  the  victims  of  some  latent  disease.  Coffins 
were  provided  by  the  inhabitants,  and  the  bodies,  laid 
therein  with  those  demonstrations  of  respect,  which  they 
were  accustomed  to  pay  to  the  forsaken  tenement  of  a 
soul.  Most  of  the  population  of  Mohesran  attended  the  ob 
sequies,  which  were  solemnized  upon  the  Square,  opposite 
the  Court-house.  As  the  clergyman  lifted  his  voice  in 
pathetic  tones,  to  Him  "  who  hath  made  of  one  blood,  all 
who  dwell  upon  the  face  of  the  earth,"  the  females  throng 
ed  to  his  side,  as  if  they  loved  and  revered  the  ambassa 
dor  of  that  Great  Spirit,  who  giveth  life  arid  taketh  it 
away.  Tears  flowed  over  their  sad  faces,  as  they  gazed 
upon  the  lifeless  forms  ;  but  on  the  countenances  of  the 
men,  was  a  dark  expression,  as  if  they  remembered  that 
they  were  but  servants,  where  once  their  fathers  were 
lords.  This  recollection  occupied  their  minds  more  than 
the  scene  which  mournfully  illustrated  the  equality  of 
man.  At  length  the  dissatisfied  spirit  revealed  itself  in 
words.  Graves  had  been  prepared  for  the  unfortunate 
men,  in  the  burial-place  of  the  northern  parish  of  N , 


38  SKETCH    OF    CONNECTICUT, 

whose  white  monuments  might  be  seen  through  the  trees, 
which  surrounded  the  green  where  they  were  assembled. 

"  These  men  shall  not  lie  side  by  side,"  they  exclaim 
ed,  with  their  usual  conciseness  and  energy.  "  Ask  ye 
why  ?  In  one  of  them  is  the  blood  of  our  kings.  He  was 
sixteenth  cousin  to  our  last  monarch.  The  other  is  an 
accursed  Pequot.  Think  ye  the  same  earth  shall  cover 
them  ?  No  !  Their  spirits  would  contend  in  their  dark 
habitation.  The  noble  soul  would  scorn  to  see  the  vile 
slumherer  so  near.  They  could  not  arise  and  walk  to 
gether  to  the  shadowy  regions,  for  their  everlasting  home 
is  not  the  same." 

Such  was  the  haughty  spirit,  which  lurked  in  the  bosom 
of  an  oppressed,  a  crushed  people.  They  could  not  for 
get  the  throne  that  was  overturned,  though  they  grovelled 
among  worms  at  its  footstool. 

Yet  this  tribe,  now  so  despised,  was  once  formidable  to 
our  ancestors.  Its  friendship  was  courted,  and  its  aid, 
during  the  wars  with  Philip,  in  the  seventeenth  century, 
was  very  important  to  them  in  the  infancy  of  their  colony. 

It  Was,  at  that  time,  formidable  both  for  extent  of  territo-  j 

>*.  { 
ry,  and  number  of  warriors.     Its  power  was  increased  by 

the  conquest  of  Sassacus,  king  of  the  Pequots,  who  at  the 
arrival  of  the  English  had  under  his  dominion  26  sachems, 
and  700  warriors  ;  and  also  by  the  subjugation  of  the  Nip- 
mucks,  whose  strong  hold  was  in  Oxford,  in  Massachu 
setts,  though  their  dominion  extended  over  a  part  of  Con 
necticut.  These  conquests  were  achieved  by  the  enter- 


FORTY    YEARS   SINCE.  39 

prise  and  talents  of  Uncas,  a  monarch  whose  invincible 
courage  would  have  been  renowned  in  history,  did  he  not 
belong  to  a  proscribed  race  ;  whose  wisdom  might  place 
him  by  the  side  of  the  son  of  Laertes,  had  we  but  an  Ho 
mer  to  immortalize  his  name  ;  and  whose  friendship  for 
our  fathers  ought  to  secure  him  a  place  in  the  annals  of 
our  gratitude.  Originally  of  the  nation  of  the  Pequots, 
he  revolted  against  the  tyranny  of  Sassacus,  whose  king 
dom  comprised  the  whole  sea-coast  of  Connecticut.  Un- 
eas  partook  of  his  blood,  and  had  a  command  among  his 
warriors,  but  rebelled  against  his  arbitrary  rule,  and  de 
parted  from  his  jurisdiction. 

Considerable  address  must  have  been  requisite  to  ren 
der  himself  the  monarch  of  another  tribe,  and  make  the 
ro}ral  honours  hereditary  in  his  family.  When,  at  the 
arrival  of  our  ancestors,  the  enmity  of  the  Pequots  dis 
covered  itself  in  such  terrible  forms  of  conspiracy  and 
murder,  that  unable  to  perform  in  safety  the  duties  of  the 
consecrated  day  of  rest,  armed  sentinels  were  stationed  at 
the  threshold  of  their  churches,  Uncas  continued  their  un 
alterable  ally.  When  the  bravery  of  Mason  staked,  as  it 
were,  the  existence  of  Connecticut  on  the  firmness  of  one 
little  band,  Uncas,  with  his  warriors,  partook  every  hard 
ship,  shared  every  danger,  and,  by  his  counsels,  and  su- 
periour  knowledge  of  the  modes  of  Indian  warfare,  greatly 
facilitated  the  victory  over  their  ferocious  foes.  His  pres 
ence  of  mind,  in  any  sudden  emergency,  would  have  ranked 
him  among  heroes,  had  he  borne  a  part  in  the  wars  of  Rome. 


40  SKETCH   OF    CONNECTICUT, 

Thrice,  assassins  were  employed  against  his  life,  and  suc 
ceeded  in  wounding  him,  but  he  discovered  no  perturba 
tion.  One,  bribed  by  Miantonimoh,  his  deadly  enemy, 
in  1643,  shot  him  through  the  arm,  but,  like  the  wretch 
employed  against  the  great  Coligny  by  the  Medicean  fac 
tion,  fled,  without  daring  to  meet  the  eye  of  the  hero. 
Another,  instigated  by  the  treacherous  Ninigrate,  in  1648, 
approached  him  as  he  stood  unsuspiciously  in  a  ship,  and 
pierced  his  breast  with  a  sword.  But  the  wound  was  nov 
mortal,  and,  in  both  instances,  his  cool  and  majestic  de 
portment  evinced  his  contempt  of  treachery,  and  his  supe 
riority  to  the  fear  of  death.  But,  though  prodigal  of  his 
own  blood  when  danger  impended,  he  was  tenacious  of 
the  lives  of  his  people. 

Sequasson,  a  sachem  on  Connecticut  River,  having  de 
stroyed  one  of  his  subjects,  and  refused  to  makp.  reparation. 
Uncas  challenged  him  to  single  combat,  and  slew  him  ; 
cancelling  with  his  blood  the  debt  of  justice,  which  he  had 
scorned  to  acknowledge.  The  same  tenderness  for  the 
lives  of  his  followers  may  be  discerned  when  they  were 
drawn  up  in  battle  array,  against  the  force  of  Miantonirnoh, 
his  mortal  foe.  During  the  short  pause  which  preceded 
the  encounter,  the  Mohegan  monarch,  lofty  in  native  val 
our,  approaching  from  his  ranks,  stretched  forth  his  hand 
toward  his  antagonist,  and  said, — 

"  Here  are  many  brave  men  ;  but  the  quarrel  is  ours, 
Miantonimoh.  Come  forth,  let  us  fight  together.  If  you 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  41 

destroy  me,  my  men  shall  be  yours  ;    if  you  fall,  yours 
shall  be  mine." 

The  haughty  king  of  the  Narragansetts  answered  proud- 
iy,— 

"  My  men  came  to  fight,  and  they  shall  fight." 
They  fought  and  were   defeated.       The  vanquished 
leader  was  taken  prisoner  by  Uncas,  who,  contrary  to  the 
expectations  of  his  followers,  restrained  that  rage  of  ven 
geance,  which  savages  rank  among  their  virtues.     He  led 
his  captive  to  Hartford,  and  delivered  him  to  the  justice  of 
the  Colony,   submitting  his  personal   resentment  to  the 
sanction  of  laws,  which  he  acknowledged  to  be  more  wise 
than  his  own.     They   decreed  his  death,  on  account  of 
many  crimes,  and   restored  the  victim  to  his  conqueror. 
Uncas  returned  with  him  to  the  spot  where  the  battle  was 
fought,  and  when  the  carnage,  which  Miantonimoh  had  caus 
ed,  was  before  his  eyes,  an  Indian  executioner  cleft  his  head 
with  a  hatchet.     Uncas,  having  yielded  so  much  to  the 
forms  of,  justice,  now  testified  some  adherence  to  the  sav 
age  customs  of  his  country  ;  which,   if  fully  observed, 
would  have  demanded  the  torture  of  the  criminal.     Sev 
ering  a  piece  of  flesh  from  the  shoulder  of  his  lifeless  ene 
my,  he  devoured  it  with  expressions  of  triumph.     The  fal 
len  monarch  was  then  laid  in  a  grave,  over  which  a  heap 
of  stones  was  raised,  and  the  spot,  which  is  a  short  dis 
tance  north-east  of  N ,  bears  the  name  of  Sachem's  Plain 

to  this  day  ;    as  an  Israelitish  valley  was  denominated 
4* 


42  SKETCH    OF   CONNECTICUT, 

Absalom's  Dale,  from  the  pillar  erected  in  remembrance 
of  that  false  prince. 

The  character  of  Uncas  comprehended  many  noble- 
properties.  He  was  indignant  at  oppression,  of  invincible 
valour,  of  inflexible  friendship,  careful  of  the  lives  of  his 
people  with  parental  solicitude,  possessing  presence  of 
mind  in  danger,  wisdom  in  council,  and'a  Spartan  con 
tempt  of  personal  hardship  and  suffering.  The  historians 
of  that  age,  who  were  acustomed  to  represent  the  na 
tives  in  shades  of  indiscriminate  blackness,  have  been 
careful  to  give  us  the  reverse  of  the  picture.  They  assure 
us  that  the  wisdom,  by  which  they  profited,  partook  too 
much  of  art  and  stratagem  to  be  worthy  of  commendation. 
They  inform  us  that  he  was  tyrannical,  in  his  administration, 
to  the  remnant  of  the  Pequots  who  were  subjected  to  his  do 
minion.  This  was  undoubtedly  true,  yet  William  the  Con 
queror,  with  all  his  superiour  advantages  of  education  and 
Christianity,  was  more  oppressive  to  his  Saxon  vassals5 
than  this  Pagan  king.  They  also  accuse  him  of  having 
been  inimical  to  the  Christian  faith.  Probably  the  inde 
pendent  mind  of  the  Pagan  preferred  the  mythology  in 
which  he  had  been  nurtured,  to  the  tenets  of  invaders, 
who,  however  zealously  they  might  point  his  race  to  an 
other  world,  evinced  little  disposition  to  leave  them  ? 
refuge  in  this.  Possibly,  he  might  have  thought  the  in 
junctions  of  the  Prince  of  Peace,  not  well  interpreted  by 
the  bloodshed  that  marked  the  steps  of  his  followers. 
V.-T.  under  the* pressure  of  age,  and  at  the  approach  ofr 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  43 

death,  he  pondered  the  terms  of  the  gospel,  which  in  his 
better  days,  he  had  not  appreciated,  and  felt  the  value  of 
that  "  hope,  which  is  an  anchor  to  the  soul."  Like  the 
patriarch  Joseph,  he  "  gave  commandment  concerning  his 
hones."  He  had  selected,  during  health,  a  spot  for  his 
interment  ;  and  his  dying  request  was,  that  all  the  royal 
family  might  be  laid  in  the  same  sepulchre.  His  people 
revered  the  injunction  of  their  deceased  king,  and  con 
tinued  to  lay  his  descendants  in  that  hallowed  ground, 
until  the  royal  line  became  extinct.  It  is  situated  within 

the  town  of  N ,  about  seven  miles  from  the  common 

burial  place  of  Mohegan. 

Uncas  was  succeeded  by  his  son  Owaneco,  commonly 
called  Oneco,  who  continued  a  faithful  ally  of  our  fathers, 
during  the  wars  with  Philip,  when  the  destruction  of  the 
colony  was  attempted  by. more  than  3000  warriors.  On 
the  9th  of  December,  167 1 ,  when  Massachusetts  and  Con 
necticut  hazarded  a  battle  with  Philip,  and  the  combined 
force  of  the  Nipmucks  and  Narragansetts,  Oneco  accom 
panied  them  with  300  warriors. 

They  endured  without  complaint,  the  hardships  of  u 
march  at  that  inclement  season,  and  displayed  the  same 
firmness  in  the  cause  of  another,  which  the  whites  evinced 
in  their  own.  On  their  arrival  where  the  enemy  were  em 
bodied,  after  sustaining  a  sharp  conflict  with  an  advanced 
party,  they  found  that  the  greatest  part  of  the  force  was  in 
the  fort  with  their  king,  in  the  centre  of  a  morass.  This 
was  ascertained  to  be  of  unusual  height,  great  strength . 


44  SKETCH   OF    CONNECTICUT, 

and  so  artful  a  construction,  that  only  one  person  could 
enter  it  at  a  time  without  the  utmost  difficulty.  The 
troops,  on  approaching  it,  found  themselves  in  a  hazard 
ous  situation,  being  seriously  annoyed  by  the  fire  from 
within  the  fortification,  without  the  power  of  acting  upon 
the  defensive.  In  the  council  of  officers,  held  at  this  criti 
cal  juncture,  Oneco  exclaimed,  with  all  a  hero's  enthu 
siasm, — 
"  I  will  scale  these  walls.  My  people  shall  follow  me.5' 

They  assented  with  surprize  and  gratitude,  and  instant 
ly  Oneco,  with  his  bravest  warriors,  was  seen  at  the  top  of 
the  fort.  From  hence  they  hurled  their  tomahawks,  and 
took  deadly  aim  with  their  fire-arms,  among  the  mass 
within.  In  their  steps  ascended  the  intrepid  Capt.  Ma 
son,  the  first  among  the  whites  who  hazarded  so  perilous 
an  adventure.  Here  he  received  his  mortal  wound,  and 
the  troops  from  Connecticut,  who  followed  him,  sustained 
the  heaviest  share  in  the  loss  of  that  day.  Six  hours  the 
horrible  contest  continued.  Through  the  huge  logs  of  the 
fort,  blood  streamed  in  torrents,  and  of  the  great  numbers, 
which  it  contained,  scarcely  200  escaped. 

New-England,  that  day,  bewailed  the  death  or  wounds 
of  between  5  and  600  of  her  colonists,  and  of  this  loss 
more  than  a  fourth  part  was  sustained  by  her  faithful  al 
lies,  the  Mohegans.  Three  hundred  wounded  men  were 
borne,  by  their  companions,  16  miles  to  a  place  of  safety, 
on  the  day  of  this  fatiguing  battle.  Many  of  these  per 
ished,  in  consequence  of  a  storm  of  snow,  which  rendered 


FORTY    YEARS   SINCE.  46 

the  march  almost  impracticable  ;  and  400  soldiers  were 
disabled  from  action  by  the   severe  cold.     In  all  these 
dangers    and  suffering's,   Oneco   never  shrunk   from   his 
friends,  or  refused  any  aid,  which  it  was  in  his  power  to 
offer.     Sometime  afterwards,  in  a  conflict  with  the  Narra- 
gansetts,  he  rendered  our  ancestors  essential  aid,  and  by 
his  followers,  the  wily  sachem,  Cononchet  was  destroyed 
in  a  river,  where  he  had  sought  concealment.     Again  he 
hazarded  his  life,  and  his  people,  in  a  battle,  where   the 
*  Narragansetts,  led  on  by  their  queen,  the  wife  of  Philip, 
were  defeated,  after  displaying  great  valour.   Until  1675, 
when  the  campaigns   of  Philip  were  terminated  by  his 
death,  Oneco  continued  to  lead  his  men  into  every  scene 
of  danger,  which  threatened  his  allies.     Frequently  un 
noticed,  and  usually  unrewarded,  he  suffered  nothing   to 
shake  the  constancy  of  his  friendship,  or  to  induce  diso 
bedience  to  the  command  of  his  deceased  father,   never 
to  swerve  from  his  oath  to  the  English.     When  the    Ma- 
chiaveliari  policy  of  Philip  was  ultimately   defeated  by 
the  undaunted  Capt.  Church,  the  head  of  that  "  troubler 
of  Israel,"  was  presented  him  by  the  warriors  of  Oneco., 
who  had  drawn  him  from  beneath  the  waters,  where,  like 
the  unfortunate  Duke  of  Monmouth,  he  had  sought  shel 
ter. 

The  historians  of  that  day,  who  were  more  accustomed 
to  stigmatize, than  to  praise  the  natives,  could  not  with 
hold  the  epithet  of  "  lion  hearted,"  from  the  name  of 
Oneco.  Yet,  whether  his  merits  have  ever  been  fully  ac- 


46  SKETCH   OF   CONNECTICUT, 

knowledge  d  by  the  descendants  of  those  whose  existence 
he  was  instrumental  in  preserving,  let  our  national  annals 
bear  witness.  He  died  childless,  and  was  succeeded  by  his 
brother  Joshua,  a  peaceful  prince,  who  is  scarcely  men 
tioned  in  the  records  of  that  age,  except  as  executing 
deeds  for  the  conveyance  of  lands  to  the  English.  As 
soon  as  they  obtained  respite  from  war,  the  same  spirit, 
which  incited  the  more  southern  settlers  to  search  for  gold, 
moved  them  to  desire  the  possession  of  all  the  patrimony 
of  the  aborigines. 

"  Soon,"  said  these  unhappy  people,  "  we  shall  not 
have  land  enough  left,  on  which  to  spread  our  blankets.'' 

Mahomet,  the  eldest  son  of  Uncas,  inheriting  a  war 
like  disposition,  had  slain,  in  a  private  feud,  one  of  his 
people  who  had  given  him  offence.  The  avenger  of 
blood,  who  by  their  laws  is  permitted  to  take  the  life  of 
the  murderer,  slew  the  young  prince  ere  he  was  crowned, 
Uncas,  then  hoary  with  age,  deeply  regretted  the  loss  of 
his  favourite  son,  but  was  too  wise  to  complain  of  the 
ancient  laws  of  his  tribe.  Covering  his  face,  for  a  short 
time,  to  conceal  the  anguish  of  a  parent  for  his  first-born.  , 
he  again  raised  his  eyes,  and  said  with  an  unmoved  coun 
tenance, — 

"  It  is  well,  my  people.  Let  him  be  carried  to  his 
grave." 

Joshua  was  succeeded  by  the  brother-kings,  Benjamin 
and  Samuel.  The  first  being  the  eldest,  had  the  right  to 
reign  and  was*  saluted  by  the  nation  as  its  sovereign. 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  47 

The  younger,  manifesting  a  more  pliant  disposition  to  the 
will  of  the  colonists,  was  supported  by  them.  He  adopt 
ed  a  military  dress,  and  was  fond  of  the  customs  and 
conversation  of  the  whites.  The  elder,  strong  in  native 
eloquence,  drew  around  him  the  strength  of  his  tribe. 
Like  Cyrus  and  Artaxerxes,  the  rival  monarchs  of  Persia, 
separate  interests  awoke  their  ambition,  yet  not  iike  them 
did  they  lift  their  hand  against  each  other  in  battle.  Kindred 
blood  restrained  the  animosity  which  their  partizans  would 
rfain  have  fomented  ;  and  then'  example  is  a  reproof  to 
more  civilized  combatants,  who  can  not  only  forget  that 
they  had  but  one  father,  but  even  that  "  one  God  created 
them."  At  length  the  elder  king  paid  the  debt  of  nature, 
and  though  he  had  been  wise  and  humane,  yet  among  the 
adherents  of  his  brother  was  no  mourning.  But  death, 
as  if  determining  that  the  grief  should  be  general,  smote 
the  younger  also,  and  they  reposed  in  one  grave.  On 
the  tomb-stone  of  the  favourite  of  our  ancestors,  the  fol 
lowing  epitaph  was  inscribed.  It  was  the  production  of 
a  late  celebrated  physician  of  N — ,  whose  memory  is  em 
balmed  by  excellence  and  piety,  more  than  by  his  poeti 
cal  talents. 

"  For  beauty,  wit,  and  manly  sense, 
For  temper  mild,  and  eloquence, 
For  courage  bold,  and  things  wauregan, 
He  was  the  glory  of  Mohegan." 

The  line  of  the  royalty  of  this  tribe  became  extinct  in 
the  person  of  Isaiah  Uncas,  who  received  a  partial  educa- 


48  SKETCH   OF    CONNECTICUT, 

tion  at  the  seminary  of  President  Wheelock,  in  Connecti 
cut,  but  seemed  not  to  inherit  either  the  intellect,  or 
enterprise,  which  distinguished  the  founder  of  that  dy 
nasty. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

•k  Haste  !  ere  oblivion's  wave  shall  close. 

And  snatch  them  from  the  deep, 
Muse  for  a  moment  o'er  their  woes, 
Then  bid  their  memory  sleep."" 

IT  has  been  mentioned  that  the  tribe  of  natives,  whose 
traditions  we  have  partially  gathered,  retained  amid  its 
degeneracy,  some  individuals  worthy  of  being  rescued 
from  oblivion.  Among  these,  history  has  been  most 
faithful  in  preserving  the  lineaments  of  their  spiritual 
guide,  the  Rev.  Samson  Occom.  He  received  instruction 
in  the  sciences  and  in  the  Christian  faith,  from  the  Rev. 
E.  Wheelock,  afterwards  President  of  Dartmouth  College. 
The  sj^mpathies  of  this  excellent  man  were  aroused  by 
the  ignorance  of  a  race,  at  once  rapidly  vanishing,  and 
miserably  despised.  Regardless  of  the  censure  which 
stamped  him  as  an  enthusiast,  and  a  visionary,  he  com 
menced  a  school  for  them  in  Lebanon,  (Connecticut,) 
about  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century,  and  by  his 
disinterested  efforts  for  their  improvement  and  salvation, 
deserves  an  illustrious  rank  among  Christian  philanthro 
pists.  Occom  was  his  first  pupil,  and  his  intellectual  ad 
vances,  and  genuine  piety,  compensated  the  labours  of 
his  revered  instructor.  After  a  residence  of  several  years 
in  the  family  of  his  benefactor,  he  became  the  teacher  of 

a  school  on  Long  Island,  and  endeavoured  to  impart  th#» 
o 


50  SKETCH    OF    CONA'tXli^UT, 

fiidimenb  of  divine  truth,  to  the  Moatauk  tribe,  who  were 
in  his  vicinity.     His  piety,  and  correct  deportment   pro 
cured  for  him   a  license  to  preach  the  gospel  to  bis  be 
nighted  brethren.     He   travelled  through  various    tribes, 
enduring  (he  hardships  of  a  missionary,  and  faithfully 
doing   the  work  of  an  evangelist.     His    eloquence,  par 
ticularly  in  his  native  language,  was  very  impressive,  and 
his  discourses  in  English  were  well  received,  from   the 
pulpits  of  the  largest  and  most  polished  congregations  ia 
4he  United  Slates.     In  17G5,  he  crossed   the  Atlantic,  and 
•VH-  welcomed  in  England,  with  a  combination  of  strong 
Curiosity j  and  ardent  benevolence,  which  were  highly  grat- 
•  lying  to  him.     Here  his  mind  was  enlarged  by  extensive 
•ntercourse  with  the  wise  and  the   good,  with  some   of 
•vliom  he  continued  to  maintain  a  correspondence  through 
out  life.  At  his  return,  he  commenced  the  discharge  of  the 
duties  of  his  station,  with  increased  ardour,  and  an  inter 
esting  humility.     He  delighted  much  in  devotional  poet 
ry,  and  presented  a  volume  of  hymns,  selected  by  himself., 
vo  his  American  brethren,  which  together  with  the  let- 
.ers  which  are   preserved,  evince   his  correct  knowledge 
of  our  language,  and  the  predominance  of  religious  senti 
ments  in  his  mind.     His  residence  was  not  stationary  until 
near  the  close  of  his  life,  but  at  the  period  of  this  sketch, 
he  was  with  his  brethren  of  the  Mohegan  tribe.     They 
listened  to  his   instructions  with   awe,  and  regarded  him 
with  affectionate   interest.     When  in  explaining  to  them 
the  sufferings  of  a  Saviour,  his  eyes  would  overflow,  and 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  51 

a  more  than  earthly  fervour  pervade  his  features  and  ex 
pressions,  they  felt  convinced  that  he  loved  what  he  im 
parted,  and  honoured  his  sincerity.  But  when  he  enforced 
the  wrath  of  the  Almighty  against  impenitence,  his  tones 
rising  with  his  theme,  and  the  terrours  of  the  law  bursting 
from  his  lips,  they  forgot  the  lowliness  of  his  station,  the 
subdued  meekness  of  his  character,  and  trembled  as  if 
they  had  heard  rising  among  the  mountains,  the  voice  of 
the  Eternal  Spirit. 

Robert  Ashbow  was  the  chieftain,  the  counsellor  of  the 
tribe.  Descended  from  the  royal  family,  he  was  tenacious 
of  that  shadowy  honour  ;  yet  he  who  might  decry  such  an 
empty  distinction,  could  not  long  scan  him,  without  per 
ceiving  that  nature  had  enrolled  him  among  her  nobility. 
She  had  endued  him  with  a  noble  form,  and  an  eye, 
whose  glance  seemed  to  penetrate  the  secrets  of  the  soul. 
His  lofty  forehead  spoke  the  language  of  command,  though 
his  countenance  when  at  rest  wore  a  cast  of  gravity, 
even  to  melancholy,  as  if  his  habitual  musings  were  among 
the  'broken  images  of  other  days.  Yet  his  kindling  brow, 
aad  the  curl  of  his  strongly  compressed  lip  could  testify 
the  fiery  enthusiasm  of  eloquence,  or  the  most  terrible 
emotions  of  anger.  Some  acquaintance  with  books  had 
aided  the  vigour  of  his  intellect,  and  he  was  fond  of  asso 
ciating  with  the  better  class  of  whites,  because  he  could 
thus  gratify  his  thirst  for  knowledge.  When  the  general 
government  of  the  states  had  become  settled  upon  a  per 
manent  foundation,  Robert  Ashbow  was  permitted  to 


5&  SKETCH   OF    CONNECTICUT, 

represent  his  people  in  the  council  of  the  nation,  and  re 
ceived  from  some  of  the  most  distinguished  Senators, 
proofs  that  his  talents  were  duly  estimated,  and  his  opin 
ions  honoured.  In  religion,  he  was  some what  more  than  a 
skeptick,  and  less  than  a  believer.  He  was  familiar  with 
the  language  of  scripture,  and  assented  to  the  excellence 
of  its  precepts,  yet  was  perplexed  at  the  division  of  faith 
from  practice,  which  he  beheld  in  many  who  professed  to 
obey  it.  His  adorations  of  the  Great  Spirit  were  stated  and 
reverential.  On  the  death  of  the  Son  of  God  for  man,  and 
on  the  nature  of  the  gospel  breathing  peace,  and  good 
will,  he  reflected  with  awe,  and  admiration,  but  he  suffer 
ed  his  reasoning  powers  to  be  perplexed  witht  he  faults,  the 
crimes  of  Christians.  Perhaps  also,  the  command  "to 
love  our  enemies,"  interfered  too  palpably  with  his  code 
of  honour,  or  with  that  spirit  of  revenge,  which  his  proud 
soul  had  been  taught  to  nourish  as  a  virtue. 

John  Cooper  deserves  also  to  be  mentioned,  were  it 
only  because  he  was  the  most  wealthy  man  in  his  tribe, 
It  would  be  unpardonable  to  forget  this  distinction,  in  a 
country  like  ours,  where  wealth  so  often  supplies  the 
place  of  every  other  ground  of  merit  ;  and  where  it  is  un 
derstood  by  the  body  of  the  people,  if  not  literally  the 
"one  thing  needful,"  yet  the  best  illustration  of  what  is 
shadowed  forth  in  scripture,  as  the  "  pearl  of  great  price,'' 
which  the  wise  merchantman  will  sell  all  to  obtain. 

The  habitation  of  John  bore  no  external  marks  of  splen 
dour,  but  beside  a  numerous  household,  his  jurisdiction 


FORTY     YEARS     SINCE.  53 

extended  over  a  yoke  of  oxen,  two  cows,  and  sundry  swine, 
riches  heretofore  unknown  among  the  unambitious  sons  ot' 
Mohegan. 

He  was  also  a  patient,  and  comparatively  skilful  agri 
culturist.  He  had  a  supply  of  the  implements  of  hus 
bandry,  for  himself  and  sons,  and  availed  himself  of  the 
labours  of  the  plough,  which  his  countrymen,  either  from 
dislike  of  toil,  or  jealousy  at  innovation,  too  generally 
neglected.  The  corn  of  John  Cooper  might  be  known 
from  that  of  his  neighbours,  by  its  tall,  regular  ranks, 
and  more  abundant  sheaves.  Its  interstices  were  fill 
ed  with  the  yellow  pumpkin,  and  the  green  crooked- 
neck'd  squash,  and  its  borders  adorned  with  the  prolific 
field  bean.  A  large  stack  of  hay  furnished  the  winter 
food  of  his  animals,  as  he  had  not  yet  aspired  to  the  luxu 
ry  of  a  barn.  He  was  regarded  by  some  of  his  brethren 
with  a  suspicious  eye  ;  not  that  they  envied  his  possession?, 
for  they  had  not  learned  to  place  wealth  first  on  the  list 
of  virtues.  But  they  imagined  that  he  approximated  too 
closely  to  the  habits  of  white  men,  whom  if  they  regard 
ed  as  friends,  they  could  not  wholly  forget  had  been 
invaders.  They  conceived  poverty  to  be  less  degrading 
than  daily  toil,  and  thought  he  could  not  be  a  true  Indian, 
who  would  not  prefer  the  privations  of  one,  to  the  slavery 
of  the  other.  But  John  found  patient  industry  favourable 
not  only  to  his  condition  but  to  his  character.  His  regular 
supply  of  necessary  articles  removed  those  temptations  to 

intemperance,  which  arise  from  the  alternation  of  famine 
5* 


54  SKETCH    OF    CONNECTICUT. 

:md  profusion.    Labour  promoted  his  health,  and  provi 
dence  of  comforts   for  his  family  inspired  a  soothing  self 
.satisfaction.     His  untutored  mind  also  found  the  connex 
ion,  which  has  been  thought  to  exist  between  agriculture 
md  natural  religion.     While  committing  his  seed  to  the 
f-arth,  he  thought  of  Him  who  made  both  the  earth  and  her 
son  who  feeds  upon  her  bosom.     He  remembered  that  all 
his  toil  would  be  fruitless,  unless  that  Great  Spirt  should 
give  his  smile  to  the  sun,  and  to  the  rain  that  matured  the 
harvest.     Softened  by  such  contemplations,  his  heart  be 
came  prepared  for  the  truths  of  revealed  religion.     Mr. 
Occom  found  him  a  docile  student  in  the  school  of  his  Sa 
viour,  and  imparted  to  him  with  delight  the  knowledge  of 
the  word  that  bringeth  salvation.     The  husbandman  sub 
mitted  himself  to  the  teaching  of  the  Spirit,  and  embraced 
the  Christian  faith.     His  employment  became  dearerthan 
ever,  and  he  was  continually  drawing  from  it  spiritual  em 
blems,  to  animate  gratitude,  or  to  deepen  humility.     When 
subjecting  to  cultivation  an  unbroken  piece  of  ground,  the 
jrrmibles  which    invested  it,  would  remind  him  of  the 
.spontaneous  vices  of  the  unrenovated  heart.     '"  Their  end 
is  to  be  burned,"  he  would  say  internally,  "  and  such  had 
been  mine,  but  for  thy   mercy,  my  God.5'     The  pure 
spring  that  gave  refreshment  to  his  weariness,  restored  to 
his  thought  "  that  fountain,  which  cleanseth  from  sin,  and 

'>f  which  he  who  drinketh  shall  thirst  no  more."     In  the 

• 

.storm  which  frustrated  his  hopes,  he  traced  the  wisdom  of 
Him,  who  giveth  not  account  of  bis  ways  r.nto  man,  jjuj 


FORTY    YEAHS    blNChl.  OO 

irom  the  cloud  sendeth  forth  the  bow  of  promise  to  renew 
his  trust,  and  the  sunbeam  to  cheer  his  toil.     In  the  cul 
tured  fields,  clothed  with  their  various  garb,  he  perceiv 
ed  an  emblem  of  the  righteous  man,  bringing  forth  good 
truits,  out  of  faith  unfeigned  :  in  the  harvest  bowing  to  the 
reaper,  he  beheld  him  ready  to  be  gathered  into  the  gar 
ner  of  eternal  life.     Thus  increasing  in  knowledge  and, 
piety,  Mr.  Occom  considered  him  an  useful  assistant  in  hit 
stated  instructions  to  the  people,  and  thought  of  commit 
ting  them  to  his  spiritual  charge,  when  he  was  compelled 
to  be  absent.    But  though  they  acknowledged  that  what 
John  Cooper  said  of  religion  was  well,  and  his  prayers  to 
the  Great  Spirit  sufficiently  long,  it  was  evident  that  he 
did  not  possess  their  entire  confidence,  and  some  of  them 
could  not  refrain  from  saying,  that  they  "  never  yet  saw 
an  Indian  so  e  age /after  both  worlds."     Near  the  dwelling 
of  John  was  that  of  Arrowhamet  the  warrior,  or  Zachary 
as  he  was  familiarly  called,  by  the  name  of  his  baptism. 
Tall,  erect  and  muscular,  he  seemed  to  defy  the  ravages 
of  time,  though  the  records  of  his  memory  proved,  that 
seventy  winters  had  passed  over  him.     He  had   borne  a 
part  in  the  severe  campaign,  which  preceded  the  defeat  of 
Braddock,  and  shared  the  hardships  of  the  war  of  revolu 
tion,  as  the  firm  friend  of  the  Americans.     The  tacitur 
nity  of  his  nation   prevented  that  garrulous  recitation  of 
rhe    minutiae  of  his  drama,  to  which  aged  soldiers  are 
often  addicted  ;  but  sometimes,  when  induced  to  speak 
of  his  battles,  his  flashing  eye,  and  lofty  form  rising  still 


Ot)  SKETCH    OF    CONNECTICUT, 

more  high,  attested  his  military  enthusiasm.     His  wile. 
Martha,  who  with  him  had  embraced  the  Christian  reli 
gion,  was  a  descendant  of  the  departed  royalty  of  Mohe 
gan.     Their  attachment  for  each  other  was  strong,  and 
exemplified  on  his  part,  by  more  of  courteousness,  on  her? 
by  more  of  affectionate  expression,   than  was  common  to 
the  reserve  of  their  nation.     Their  tenement  consisted  of 
two  rooms,  with  a  shed  in  the  rear,  for  the  deposite  ot 
tools,  or  the  rougher  household  utensils. 

Ilrwas  encompassed  with  a  little  garden  of  herbs  and  veg 
etables,  and  the  whole  wore  an  unusual  aspect  of  neatness 
and  comfort.  But  a  mysterious  personage  had  been  ad 
ded  to  that  family,  which  had  not  within  the  memory  of 
the  young,  comprised  but  Zachary  and  Martha.  More 
than  two  years  had  elapsed,  since  a  female  had  been 
observed  to  share  their  shelter,  and  to  sit  at  their  board. 
The  Indians  had  remarked  with  surprise  that  she  was  of 
the  race  of  the  whites,  37oung,  and  apparently  in  ill  health,, 
as  she  never  quitted  the  mansion.  "They  at  first  had  testi 
fied  some  disgust,  but  as  in  their  visits  to  the  old  warrior 
and  his  companion,  she  had  always  looked  mildly  on 
them,  and  spoken  gently,  they  came  to  the  conclusion, 
that  "  the  pale  squaw  was  wauregan,"  or  good.  Any  in 
quiry  respecting  the  guest,  was  uniformly  answered, — 
"  She  is  our  daughter  ;"  and  perceiving  that  their  friends 
did  not  wish  to  be  pressed  on  the  subject,  they  resigned 
their  researches,  and  considered  the  stranger  a?  a  denizen, 
and  a  friend. 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  57 

The  Indian  possesses  in  such  respects  a  native  polite 
ness,  which  might  sometimes  be  a  salutary  model  to 
more  civilized  communities.  It  is  an  accomplishment 
which  their  neighbours  of  Yankee  origin  might  however 
be  slow  in  acquiring.  They  seem  to  have  elevated  into  a 
virtue,  that  close  inspection  of  the  concerns  of  their  neigh 
bour,  which  almost  precludes  attention  to  their  own,  and 
doubtless  think  their  knowledge  of  the  contents  of  his  cel 
lar  and  garret,  the  management  of  his  kitchen,  the  gene 
alogy  of  his  guests,  and  his  secrets  so  far  as  they  might  be 
ascertained,  a  suitable  employment  for  those  who  are 
commanded  to  love  their  neighbour  as  themselves. 

It  might  have  been  remarked,  however,  that  since  the 
arrival  of  this  stranger,  the  dress  of  old  Zachary  was  ar 
ranged  with  a  more  scrupulous  attention  to  neatness.  No 
rents  were  observed  in  any  part  of  his  apparel,  and  where 
they  threatened  to  make  their  appearance,  the  delicate 
stitches  of  no  untaught  needle  might  be  traced.  The 
broad  gold  band,  which  had  been  the  present  of  an  officer, 
as  a  testimony  of  valour,  was  now  constantly  worn  upon 
his  well-brush'd  hat ;  and  old  Martha  was  arrayed  every 
afternoon  in  a  plain  black  silk  gown,  made  in  a  very 
proper  and  becoming  manner.  The  interiour  of  the  hum 
ble  house  evinced  the  daily  use  of  the  broom,  and  near 
its  door  two  bee-hives,  ranged  upon  a  rough  bench,  sent 
forth  the  cheerful  hum  of  industry.  Beds  of  thyme  and 
sage  lent  their  aromatic  essence  to  the  winged  throng, 
which  might  be  seen  settling  upon  them  with  intense 


58  SKETCH    OF    CONNECTICUT, 

pleasure,  in  the  earliest  ray  of  the  morning  sun.  The  de 
partment  of  medicinal  herbs  was  gradually  enlarged,  as 
they  were  found  to  promote  the  comfort  of  the  drooping  in 
mate,  and  Martha  had  become  too  old  to  seek  them  as 
she  was  wont  in  the  woods.  She  busied  herself  frequent- 
ly  in  the  construction  of  work-baskets,  whose  smooth 
compartments  displayed  the  light  touches  of  a  pencil,  te 
whose  delicacy  the  natives  laid  no  claim.  The  zeal  ot 
these  hospitable  beings  to  promote  the  accommodation  of 
their  guest  was  very  remarkable.  Zachary  would  push 
his  rude  boat  into  the  distant  waters,  that  he  might  obtain 
supplies  of  those  fish  which  were  accounted  most  rare,  or  of 
such  oysters  as  might  allure  the  appetite  of  an  invalid. 
When  he  carried  to  the  market  articles  of  domestic  manu 
facture,  he  never  returned  without  having  expended  some 
portion  of  his  little  gains,  in  the  purchase  of  a  few  crack 
ers,  or  a  small  quantity  of  wheat  flour,  or  perhaps  some 
of  the  tropical  subacid  fruits,  which  are  so  grateful  to 
the  parched  lip  of  the  sufferer  from  febrile  disease, 
Martha  brought  with  maternal  tenderness,  the  morning 
draught  of  milk  warm  from  the  cow,  who  in  her  rude 
tenement  in  the  rear  of  the  building  quietly  ruminated. 
She  would  present  also  on  a  clean  wooden  plate,  a  dessert 
from  her  bee-hive,  for  the  knowledge  of  whose  manage 
ment,  she  was  indebted  to  the  gentle  being  on  whom  her 
care  centered.  She  would  also  search  the  adjoining  fields 
for  the  first  ripe  strawberries,  and  whortleberries  in  their 
reason,  and  bring  them  in  a  little  basket  of  green  leaves, 


FORTY    YEARS   SIISTCE.  ;>y 

that  their  freshness  and  fragrance  might  tempt  the  sick 
ening  palate.  An  emaciated  hand  would  receive  these 
gifts,  and  a  face  white  as  marble  beam  with  a  faint  smile, 
while  a  soft  voice  uttered,  "  I  thank  you  Mother."  But 
all  seemed  in  vain,  the  liliy  grew  paler  upon  its  stem. 
and  seemed  likely  to  sink  into  the  grave,  lonely  and  beau 
tiful,  with  all  its  mysteriousness  unrevealed. 

One  more  personage  deserves  to  be  noticed 'ere  we 
close  the  brief  catalogue.  Maurice,  or  as  he  was  called 
before  his  baptism  Kehoran,  was  deemed  by  his  country 
men  the  most  singular  of  men.  Yet  so  accustomed  had 
they  become  to  his  habits,  that  they  almost  ceased  to  be 
an  object  of  animadversion.  Years  had  elapsed  since  he 
withdrew  himself  from  the  residence  of  man,  and  became 
the  tenant  of  a  cave,  at  the  base  of  a  rock,  at  a  consider 
able  distance  from  the  principal  settlement.  Nature  had 
there  formed  an  irregular  apartment  of  about  twenty  feet 
in  length,  and  varying  in  height  and  breadth.  Its  aper 
ture,  much  below  the  stature  of  a  man,  was  of  a  triangular 
shape,  and  apparently  made  by  the  disruption  of  the 
rock,  which  formed  the  roof  of  the  cavern.  It  was  par 
tially  closed  by  rolling  against  it  a  large  stone  which  was 
found  within,  among  other  rubbish,  which  the  hermit  had 
removed.  Here  Maurice  dwelt,  subsisting  upon  the  roots 
and  berries,  which  the  shaggy  forest  overhanging  his  roof 
supplied,  and  quenching  his  thirst  at  a  spring  which  ran 
bubbling  from  the  rocky  height,  and,  gliding  past  his 
door  like  a  riband-snake,  disappeared  in  the  adjoining1 


60  SKETCH   OF   CONNECTICUT, 

thicket.    Abed  of  skins  afforded  him  a  place  of  repose, 
and  the  severity  of  his  life  distressed   even  the  natives, 
who  were  accustomed  to  despise  hardships  arid  privation, 
Maurice  was  tall,  and  emaciated,  clad  in  a  rough  man 
tle  of  skins,  fastened  round    his  loins    with   a   strip   of 
bark.    At  a  distance  he  might  be  taken  for  a  miserable 
Franciscan,  and  as  he   approached,  the  crucifix  always 
borne  around  his  neck,  revealed  the  religion  which  he 
professed.     It  was  the  general  opinion  that  the  terrible 
penances  which  he  endured,  had   been  enjoined  as  an 
expiation  for  some  unknown  crime.     It  was  remembered 
by  the  oldest  inhabitants  that  he  had  been  a  warrior,  and 
a  hunter  of  athletic  frame,  and  keen  eye.     Now,  when  a 
partridge  rested  near  him,  or  a  squirrel  sprang  from   the 
branch  where  he  stood,  he  had  been  observed  to  raise  his 
arm  involuntarily,  as  if  to  bend  his  bow,  then  dropping  it 
suddenly  to  exclaim,  "  No  !  No  !    there  is  blood  enough 
already."     His   feet  were  bare,  and  often  wounded  by 
thorns,  and  his  white  beard  which  he  suffered  not  to  be 
cut,  rested  upon  his  breast.     Every  autumn  he  disap 
peared,  and  was  no  more  seen,  until  the  opening  spring 
permitted  him  to  inhabit  his  cave,  and  resume  his  usual 
regimen.     It  was  at  length  understood,  that  in  his  inter 
vals  of  absence,  he  travelled  to  Canada,  to  visit  the  Jesuit 
who  converted  him,   and  to  become  confirmed  in  the  faith 
which  he  had  embraced.    But  the  present  winter  he  had 
omitted  this  stated  journey.    Some  fancied  that  his  be 
loved   instructed  was  dead,  but  the  majority  concluded 


FORTY    YEARS   SINCE.  61 

that  the  infirmities  of  age  precluded  the  hermit  from  the 
fatigues  of  his  pilgrimage.  He  was  seen  to  guide  his  let 
tering  steps  by  a  staff,  and  to  look  vacantly  at  surround 
ing  objects,  as  if  his  eye  was  dim  to  their  proportions. 
The  hair  upon  his  head  had  become  thin,  and  whiter  than 
silver,  yet  he  defended  it  by  no  covering  from  the  blast 
or  from  the  tempest.  He  now  received  with  unwonted 
kindness,  additional  clothing,  or  occasional  food  from  his 
countrymen,  but  if  they  offered  him  flesh  he  would  repel 
it  with  disgust,  saying  "  it  must  never  pass  the  lips  of 
Maurice."  The  benevolence  of  Mr.  Occom  was  strong 
ly  excited  in  his  behalf.  He  visited  him  in  his  cell,  re 
lieved  his  famine,  and  urged  him  to  accept  of  a  milder 
faith  and  to  rely  on  the  expiation  of  his  Redeemer,  and  not 
on  the  mortification  of  his  frail,  decaying  body.  He  would 
listen  calmly  to  his  discourses,  but  when  he  touched  upon 
any  peculiar  tenet  of  the  Roman  church,  would  wave  his 
withered  hand,  with  all  its  wasted  energy,  and  exclaim 
**  your  way  is  not  my  way." 


CHAPTER  V. 


Pure  Charity, 


Who  in  the  sun-beam  of  her  Sire  doth  walk 
Mrtjestic,  hath  a  prayer  of  love  for  all ; 
Yet  not  on  Indolence  and  Vice,  her  gifts 
Profusely  pours ;    lest  fostering  Sin,  she  mar 
The  Deity's  good  work,  and  help  to  stain 
His  beautiful  creation. 

THE  charities  of  Madam  L had  become  proverb 
ial.  Not  only  did  the  sufferers  in  her  vicinity  resort  to 
her  under  the  pressure  of  calamity,  but  the  roving  beggar 
trusted  to  find  in  her  mansion,  relief  or  shelter.  These 
mendicants,  not  being  restrained  at  that  period  by  the  fear 
of  work-houses,  were  more  numerous  in  proportion,  and 
vastly  more  at  ease  in  their  peregrinations  than  at  the 
present  day.  Although  there  were  not  among  them,  as  in 
England,  any  selling  of  stands  and  circuits,  fortunes  se 
cretly  amassed,  or  establishments  which  transformed  the 
gains  of  the  day  into  nocturnal  revels,  where  the  cripple 
danced,  and  the  blind  recovered  their  sight ;  yet  there 
existed  that  system  of  sympathetic  intelligence,  by  which 
the  houses  of  the  bountiful  were  seldom  unvisited,  or 

those  of  the  churl  entered.    Madam  L ,  being  one  day 

summoned  to  the  kitchen  to  receive  a  guest  of  that  order, 
was  accosted  in  piteous  tones  by  a  man,  who  raised  him 
self  with  difficulty  by  the  aid  of  a  staff  upon  one  limb,  while 


64  SKETCH   OF    CONNECTICUT, 

the  other  was  so  bandaged  that  it  seemed  an  useless  ap 
pendage.  This  he  said  was  disabled  by  a  shot  at  the  battle 
©f  the  Eutaw  Springs,  where,  being  left  senseless  on  the 
field,  his  head  was  dreadfully  lacerated  by  the  tomahawks 
of  the  Indians.  A  swelling,  and  excoriation  upon  his  arm, 
which  he  also  exhibited,  he  termed  a  "  Rose-Cancer." 
Moved  by  such  a  combination  of  ills,  and  ever  alive  to 
the  sufferings  of  those  who  fought  the  battles  of  our  revo  - 
lution,  the  Lady  bestowed  on  him  alms,  which  rendered 
him  eloquent  in  thanksgiving,  and  ordered  him  some  din 
ner.  As  she  retired  to  her  parlour,  Cuff  following  said  in 
a  suppressed  voice,  "  He  been  here  afore,  Ma'am.  He 
no  more  lame,  than  I  lame." 

Returning,  and  scrutinizing  him  more  closely  as  he  par 
took  of  his  repast,  she  recognized  in  his  face,  half  covered 
by  the  large  cap  which  concealed  his  wound,  some  resem 
blance  to  a  recent  applicant.  "  Were  you  here,  a  short 
time  since  ?"  she  inquired.  "  No — God  bless  your  soul, 
Ma'am,"  answered  the  man,  rapidly.  "  I  never  see  your 
blessed  face  till  this  day,"  regarding  Cuff  with  eyes  in 
flamed  with  anger.  Beulah  then  spoke, — "  three  weeks 
ago  yesterday,  he  come  here,  walking  on  two  legs,  with 
out  any  hurt  in  his  head,  or  Rose-Cancer."  "  Put  a  spoon 
in  your  calabash-mouth,  and  see  if  that  will  keep  down 
your  false  tongue,"  said  the  beggar,  in  his  hoarse,  natural 
voice  ;  forgetting  the  melancholy  notes,  to  which  he  at 
first  set  his  articulation.  Hastily  seizing  the  pack,  from 
.which  he  had  imhamess'd  himself,  that  he  might  more 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  (55 

eas-ily  take  refreshment,  he  slipped  the  strap  over  his 
neck  with  such  an  ill  grace,  as  to  dislodge  the  cap,  which 
he  said  he  was  obliged  always  to  keep  over  his  wound, 
because  the  "  air  made  it  ache  tormentedly."  This  un 
fortunate  occurrence  discovered  an  unscalped  head,  with 
a  thick  growth  of  hair.  The  wrinkles,  with  which  he  had 
plaited  his  forehead,  suddenly  disappeared  before  the 
emotion,  which  put  disguise  to  flight  ;  for,  though  proba 
bly  long  inured  to  dissimulation,  he  could  not  without 
some  compunction  be  stripped  of  his  mask,  in  the  presence 
of  abused  goodness.  "  You  are  the  man,"  said  the  Lady 
in  a  calm  voice,  "  who,  a  short  time  since,  requested 
charity  for  a  houseless  wife  and  seven  children,  whose 
little  home,  erected  by  your  industry,  was  burnt  at  mid 
night.  You  wept,  as  you  said,  that  your  eldest  daugh 
ter,  who  was  sick,  perished  in  the  flames.  Did  you  not 
tell  me  the  name  of  the  village  within  the  borders  of  Mas 
sachusetts,  where  your  family  remained,  shelterless,  and 
that  you  were  in  haste  to  gain  a  little  aid,  that  you  might 
return  and  comfort  them  ?"  To  this  mild  appeal  the  dis 
sembler  had  no  answer.  He  would  have  repelled  anger 
with  impudence,  but  undeserved  gentleness  silenced  him. 
Busying  himself  to  collect  his  cap,  hat  and  staff,  he  uncon 
sciously  found  his  useless  limb,  very  serviceable  in  facili 
tating  his  exit.  "  Fear  not,"  said  the  Lady,  "  that  I  shall 
reclaim  the  alms  I  have  given  you.  But  remember,  though 
you  may  sometimes  deceive  your  fellow-creatures,  there 

is  a  Judge  whom  you  cannot  escape,  whose  "  eyes  are 
6* 


UU  SKETCH   OF    CONNECTICUT, 

like  a  consuming  fire  to  all  iniquity,"     Returning  to  her 

parlour,  she  found  her  brother  Dr.  L ,  waiting  to  make 

her  his  daily  visit.  He  was  the  only  brother  of  her  de 
ceased  husband,  and  a  few  years  younger  than  herself. 
The  residence  of  his  family  was  opposite  her  own  ;  and 
the  unrestrained  intercourse,  which  had  ever  been  main 
tained,  greatly  alleviated  her  loneliness.  Dr.  L was 

a  man  of  great  goodness  of  heart,  and  exemplary  life. 
Gentleness  of  manner,  moderation  in  sentiment,  and  sin 
cere  piety  were  his  characteristicks.  As  he  approached 
the  close  of  a  long  life,  (for  more  than  fourscore  year 
were  allotted  him,)  benevolence  became  more  and  more 
his  distinguishing  feature  ;  as  the  stream  expands  more 
widely,  as  it  prepares  to  enter  the  bosom  of  that  sea, 
where  its  course  terminates.  Invariable  temperance,  and 
a  mind  a  stranger  to  those  starts  of  passion  which  disorder 
the  wheels  of  existence,  gave  him  an  age  of  unbroken  ac 
tivity  and  health  ;  cheered  by  the  sight  of  his  children's 
children,  springing  up  like  olive  plants  around  his  path. 
He  lived  to  see  the  eyes  of  this  beloved  sister  closed  in 
death,  when  she  had  nearly  attained  fourscore  years  and 
!en.  The  fraternal  attachment,  which  had  been  nourish 
ed  for  more  than- half  a  century  by  the  sympathies  of  daily 
intercourse,  did  not  fully  reveal  its  strength,  till  its  ties 
were  sundered.  "Bowing  down,  he  walked  heavily,  as 
one  who  mourneth  for  his  mother,"— and  in  two  years 
slumbered  near  her,  beneath  the  clods  of  the  valley. 
At  the  period  of  this  sketch,  IIP  was  in  his  grand  climac- 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  67 

terick,  with  a  florid  brow,  and  a  step  like  youthful  agility. 
He  was  of  small  stature,  and  correct  proportions,  and  in 
his  attire  preserved  those  ancient  fashions,  which  were 
then  thought  to  give  consistency  and  dignity  to  the  form 
which  time  had  honoured.  A  white,  full  bottomed  wig. 
beautifully  curled,  shaded  his  venerable  brow.  This  was 
surmounted  by  a  low-crowned  three-cornered  hat,  or,  dur 
ing  his  favourite  rides  on  horseback,  by  one  with  a  deep 
brim,  to  afford  shelter  to  the  eyes.  His  nicely  plaited 
stock,  long  waistcoat,  and  silver  buckles,  never  yielded  to 
modern  innovations  ;  and  the  neatness,  which  distinguished 
his  dress,  extended  through  his  mansion,  and  its  precincts. 
It  also  pervaded  every  branch  of  the  domestic  depart 
ment,  and  like  the  spirit  of  order,  promised  to  be  an  heir 
loom  in  his  family.  Such  was  the  person  to  whom  Mad 
am  L ,  with  the  freedom  of  sisterly  intercourse,  re 
lated  the  adventure  which  had  just  occurred  in  her  kitch 
en.  "  I  have  long  wished,"  he  remarked,  "  for  an  op 
portunity  to  converse  with  you  on  this  subject.  I  believe 
that  you  are  often  deceived  by  those  who  solicit  your 
charity.  The  good  are  not  easily  suspicious,  and  the 
wicked  take  advantage  of  it." 

"  I  know  brother,"  she  replied,  "that  I  have  sometimes 
given  to  the  unworthy.  The  occurrence  of  to-day  is  by 
HO  means  a  solitary  one.  Yet  how  can  we  always  dis 
criminate,  unless  we  could  read  the  heart  ?  That  suspi 
cion,  which  would  guard  us  against  dissimulation  in  one 
i-ce.  might  turn  us  from  the  prayer  of  real  want  in 


68  SKETCH   OF    CONNECTICUT, 

another.  I  have  thought  that  while  our  reliance  was  upon 
a  Benefactor  "  kind  to  the  unthankful  and  evil,"  we  ought 
not  to  hold,  with  too  strict  a  hand,  the  balance  of  merit, 
when  we  hear  the  complaint  of  misery .  I  cannot  find  that 
our  Saviour  hath  said  '  Relieve  only  the  righteous,'  but, 
"  the  poor  ye  have  always  with  you,  and  whenever  ye 
will  ye  may  do  them  good."  Does  he  not  almost  make 
them  His  substitute  ?  "me  ye  have  not  always," — as  if 
they  were  to  furnish  proof  of  our  compassion,  when  He 
should  be  raised  above  the  ills  of  humanity  ?  When  I 
have  thus  reflected  on  this  passage,  I  have  felt  that  I  had 
rather  relieve  ten  unworthy  claimants,  than  to  neglect  one 
suffering  servant  of  my  Lord." 

"  These  sentiments,"  said  Dr.  L— ,  "  might  be  ex 
pected  from  the  benevolence  of  your  heart.  Yet  while 
we  indulge  in  charitable  feelings,  we  should  be  careful 
not  to  reward  deceit,  or  cherish  vice.  We  are  command 
ed  not  '  to  do  evil  that  good  may  come  ?'?  Is  it  not  pos 
sible  that,  from  a  zeal  to  do  good,  evil  may  arise  ?  It  is 
always  safe  to  give  food  to  the  hungry,  and  clothing  to  the 
naked,  and  kind  words  to  him  who  is  of  a  heavy  heart. 
But  the  indiscriminate  gift  of  money  enables  the  drunkard 
to  repeat  his  sin,  and  the  indolent  to  become  more  vi 
cious.  Benevolence  is  blessed  in  itself,  but  it  must  be 
associated  with  discretion,  ere  it  can  confer  blessings  on 
others.  The  science  of  medicine  is  salutary,  but  if  the 
physician  use  but  one  remedy  for  every  disease,  he  will 
sometimes  occasion  death.  Yet  I  would  not  speak  as  if 


FORTY  YEARS    SINCE.  69 

you  alone  were  liable  to  deception  from  those  who  solicit 
charity.  It  is  but  a  short  time  since  a  young  man  brought 
to  my  house  a  paper,  signed  by  several  persons,  de 
claring  him  to  be  deaf  and  dumb  from  his  birth.  His 
conduct  comported  with  this  declaration.  His  questions 
were  unintelligible  to  me,  and  his  eye  possessed  that 
earnest,  inquiring  gaze,  which  characterizes  that  interest 
ing,  and  unfortunate  race.  Affected  at  the  lot  of  a  being, 
cut  off  from  all  the  privileges  and  joys  of  society,  I  was 
preparing  to  impart  liberally  to  his  wants.  My  wife, 
regarding  him  with  a  penetrating  look,  said  "  she  had  no 
doubt  he  was  an  impostor,  who  could  hear  and  speak  as 
well  as  any  of  us."  He  could  not  avoid  turning  his  head 
as  if  to  listen,  and,  more  moved  by  resentment  than  good 
manners,  answered,  "  You  lie  !" 

"  What,"  inquired  the  Lady,  "  do  you  consider  the  best 
method  of  doing  good,  with  the  least  possible  harm  ?" 
'( Undoubtedly,  that  of  relieving  the  poor,  through  their  own 
industry,"  he  answered.  "  Thus,  instead  of  the  degrada 
tion  of  beggary  you  elevate  their  character,  with  the  con 
sciousness  of  a  right  improvement  of  time.  If  they  are 
addicted  to  vices,  you  diminish  their  strength,  by  destroy 
ing  indolence.  You  dry  up  the  streams,  by  choking  the 
fountain.  A  Christian  should  seek  not  merely  to  relieve 
bodily  want,  but  to  elevate  moral  character.  If  you  sup 
port  the  children  of  an  intemperate  man,  you  take  from  him 
the  strongest  possible  motive  to  reformation  and  industry. 
In  those  countries  where  establishments  for  the  indigent 


70  SKETCH   OF   CONNECTICUT. 

have  been  the  most  abundant,  charity  has  at  length  discov 
ered,  that  the  way  to  multiply  the  poor,  is  to  provide  for  the 
poor ;  or  in  other  words  to  destroy  their  motives  of  action." 
"  Your  theory,  my  brother,  no  one  can  question  ;  the 
difficulty  seems  in  reducing  it  to  practice.  The  sick, 
and  the  infant  must  ever  be  an  exception,  and  those  also, 
who  devote  themselves  to  their  comfort.  The  class  of 
roving  mendicants  would  also  evade  it,  until  the  commu 
nity  shall  be  so  impressed  as  to  erect  houses  for  their 
restraint  and  labour.  To  the  families  of  the  poor,  who 
have  health,  it  applies  itself,  as  the  most  natural,  and 
efficacious  system  of  relief.  I  have  ever  found  wool  and 
flax  gladly  received,  and  wrought  by  poor,  virtuous 
iemales.  Their  children  can  assist  them  in  some  parts  of 
the  toil,  and  thus  industrious  habits  are  implanted,  where 
otherwise  a  vagrant  idleness  might  take  root.  When  these 
domestic  manufactures  have  exceeded  my  own  wants,  I 
have  sometimes  disposed  of  them  at  reduced  prices  among 
those  who  have  wrought  them.  Thus  their  families  are 
clad  in  durable  materials,  instead  of  those  insufficient 
fabrics,  which  the  poor  often  purchase  for  the  sake  of 
cheapness,  but  which  vanish  long  before  one  inclement 
reason  has  past.  I  have  usually  found  it  expedient  not  to 
render  them  payment  in  money,  but  in  those  articles 
which  are  necessary  to  comfortable  subsistence ;  for  I 
believe  the  cause  of  poverty  will  often  be  found  to  exist 
in  the  destitution  of  that  economy,  which  warns  against 
spending  the  little  "  all  for  that  which  is  not  bread,  and 


I  ORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  71 

"he  labour  ior  that  which  satisfieth  not."  This  system  of 
charity  creates  such  an  intimacy  and  freedom  of  detail, 
rhat  opportunities  are  discovered,  where  medicines  for 
sickness,  and  books  for  children  may  be  distributed  with 
great  advantage."  "  This  laborious  system,  have  you  then 
been  pursuing,  so  silently  that  I  had  not  discovered -it  ?" 
-:aid  her  brother.  "  What  I  began  for  a  reproof  ends  as 
asual  in  the  commendation,  that,  "  many  daughters  have 
done  virtuously,  but  thou  still  excellest."  "  I  pray  you, 
answered  the  Lady,  to  mention  nothing  of  what  I  have 
imparted  to  you.  The  detail  was  given  merely  for  the 
.-ake  of  the  inference,  that  the  system  was  too  extensive 
for  an  individual.  To  be  rendered  effectual,  it  should  be 
supported,  by  an  association  of  the  charitable.  It  ought 
to  comprise  a  warehouse,  where  the  materials  for  labour 
should  be  furnished,  the  manufactures  exposed  for  sale, 
and  a  stock  of  articles  kept,  suitable  to  be  rendered  in 
payment.  This  should  be  superintended  by  the  directors 
of  the  institution  ;  and  a  poor,  and  pious  widow,  might 
receive  a  salary  for  attending  in  it.  A  collection  of  such 
medicines,  as  might  be  administered  safely  without  appli 
cation  to  a  physician,  might  also  be  connected  with  it,  and 
would  often  prevent  serious  sickness  in  those,  whose 
strengh  is  put  in  daily  requisition,  without  the  power  of 
obtaining  necessary  cordials.  Books  of  instruction  for 
children,  and  of  consolation  for  the  aged  and  sorrowful, 
should  also  be  kept  for  gratuitous  distribution.  I  have 
thought  that  a  Charity  School,  if  it  were  kept  but  on  Sat- 


72  SKETCH    OF   CONNECTICUT, 

urday  afternoons,  might  give  opportunity  of  teaching  many 
valuable  precepts  to  the  children  of  those  who  laboured  in 
this  institution.  It  might  at  least  then  be  ascertained  how 
they  had  passed  their  time  during  the  week,  and  if  they 
were  prepared  to  attend  in  a  proper  manner,  the  exercises 
of  the  approaching  Sabbath." 

"  The  great  objection  to  this  excellent  system,"  said 

Dr.  L ,  "  will  be  found  in  the  love  of  ease.  The  rich 

had  generally  rather  satisfy  the  poor,  and  their  own  con 
sciences,  at  the  least  expense  of  time  and  thought.  These 
objects  are  accomplished  by  the  gift  of  money,  and  a 
claim  to  the  title  of  bountiful  is  thus  easily  procured. 
This  mode  of  relief  involves  no  troublesome  inquiry  into 
the  sources  of  want — no  difficult,  and  perhaps  abortive 
attempt  to  awaken  industry.  To  the  actings  of  this  indo 
lent  spirit,  we  are  all  more  or  less  prone.  This  moves 
us  even  in  the  education  of  our  children,  to  overlook  in 
stead  of  exterminating  the  ramifications  of  evil,  and  t© 
cover  an  injury,  which  will  probably  affect  them  through 
out  the  whole  of  life,  with  the  soft  name  of  affectionate 
indulgence." 

Their  conversation  was  interrupted  by  a  low  rap  at  the 
door,  and  the  entrance  of  a  woman  apparently  in  humble 
life.  A  cloak  of  homemade  cloth  covered  a  form  whose 
size  promised  great  strength  ;  and  a  decent  black  bonnet 
partially  concealed  a  face,  where  health  and  an  expression 
of  cheerful  contentment  reigned.  "  I  have  brought  home 
Ma'am,"  she  said  "  the  rest  of  the  yarn  which  you  wish- 


FORTY    YEARS   SINCE.  73 

fd  to  have  spun.  If  you  have  any  more  flax,  I  should  be 
very  glad  to  take  it." — "  Sit  down  Mrs.  Rawson,"  said 

.Madam  L .   "  You  never  seem  to  be  tired,  while  any 

work  remains.  Have  you  walked  three  miles  this  cold, 
unpleasant  day  ?" — *'  Any  body  who  is  strong,  and  well, 
need  not  complain  of  walking  a  few  miles,  Ma'am.  Some 
part  of  the  way  is  rather  wet,  but  since  I've  been  able 
through  your  help  to  get  such  a  pair  of  strong  shoes,  I 
don't  mind  any  sort  of  walking.  What  a  blessed  thing  it 
is.  when  the  hearts  of  the  rich  are  turned  to  give  work  to 
the  poor,  and  assist  them  to  get  the  necessaries  of  life,  for 
themselves  and  families." 

"  Heaven,"  said  Dr.  L ,  "  helps  those  who  are  wil 
ling  to  help  themselves.  Have  you  any  children,  good 
woman  ?" — "  O  yes  sir.  God  be  thanked.  What  a  lonely 
creature  I  should  be  without  them  We  live  almost  a  mile 
from  any  neighbour,  and  they  are  company  and  comfort 
to  me.  Some  folks  blame  me,  because  I  don't  put  them 
to  service.  But  there  are  only  two  of  them,  and  they're 
very  serviceable  to  me.  The  boy  is  twelve  years  old, 
and  he  takes  care  of  the  little  spot  of  garden  that  we  have, 
and  raises  vegetables,  and  cuts  my  wood  in  the  winter, 
and  when  he  can  work  out  a  day  or  two,  with  the  farmers, 
he's  willing  and  thankful  to  do  it,  to  get  a  little  provision 
for  me,  or  help  pay  my  rent.  The  girl  is  two  years 
younger,  and  does  the  chores  while  I  spin.  She  takes  to 
the  wheel  too,  herself,  as  natural  as  a  duck  runs  to  the 

water.    My  eldest  son  wanted  to  follow  the  seas  like  his 
7 


74  SKETCH   OF   CONNECTICUT, 

father.    It  was  a  trial  to  me,  but  I  remembered  that  he 
had  the  same  protector  on  the  water,  as  on  the  land. 
When  he  went  away,  he  said — •"•  Mother,  keep  up  a  good 
heart.     I  shall  come  back,  and  bring  you  something  to 
help  you  along."     Oh  !  with  what  delight  I  used  then  to 
read  the  107th  Psalm,  which  speaks  of  them  "that  go 
down  to  the  sea  in  ships  ;  to  do  business  in   the  great 
waters,  how  they  see  the  works  of  the  Lord,  and  his  won 
ders  in  the  deep."    Many  a  time,  when  I  have  lain  awake, 
in  stormy  nights,  when  my  bed  has  shook  under  me  with 
the  winds  that  rock'd  the  house,  I  have  thought  perhaps 
my  poor  boy   is  among   those   who  "  mount  up  to  the 
heavens,  and  go  down  again  to  the  depths,  with  their  soul 
melted  because  of  trouble."     Then  again  it  would  come 
into  my  mind,  who  knows  but  he  "  will  cry    unto  the 
Lord,  and  he  will  bring  him  out  of  his  distresses."     That 
thought  comforted  me.     If  he  can  only  be  made  to  seek 
his  God,  in  the  days  of  his  youth,  what  matter  is  it  though 
he  should  suffer,  and  his  mother's  heart  ache  ?  all  would  be- 
well  in  the  end.     When  it  came  time  to  expect  him  back, 
I  found  myself  too  anxious  and  impatient,  for  one  who   . 
ought  to  trust  all  to  God.     One  day,  when  I  was  looking 
for  him,  a  wagon  drove  up  to  the  door.     My  heart  was 
in  my  mouth.    A  man  got  out,  and  brought  me  a  chest, 
and  said,  "  This  belonged  to  your  son.    He  died  of  a  fe 
ver,  a  fortnight  before  we  arrived  on  this  coast."    My 
tongue  was  speechless — something  said  to  me  "  be  still  * 
and  know  that  1  am  God."     All  day  long,  as  I  went  about 


FORTY   YEARS   SINCE. 


76 


my  work,  that  boy  seemed  to  stand  beside  me,  with  his 
face  between  smiles  and  tears,  as  when  he  last  said, 
"  Good  bye,  mother."  When  I  went  to  bed,  and  all  was 
darkness,  his  pale  corpse  lay  stretched  before  me,  and  I 
trembled  with  agony  as  when  I  bore  him.  But  through 
that  long  sleepless  night,  the  same  voice  repeated, .  **  Be 
still !  and  know  that  I  am  God."  The  next  day,  I  opened 
his  chest.  There  lay  all  the  clothes,  that  those  dear 
hands  had  toiled  to  procure,  and  I  had  made  for  him.  But 
oh !  what  a  blessing.  Wrapt  up  in  the  choicest  manner,  I 
found  a  prayer,  which  he  had  himself  written.  It  has  been 
my  comfort  ever  since,  when  I  have  grieved,  as  a  mother 
will  grieve  for  her  first-born.  Then  I  could  turn  to  the 
psalm,  which  had  been  my  companion  in  his  absence,  and 
say,  "  Oh  !  that  men  would  praise  the  Lord  for  his  good 
ness  !  and  for  his  wonderful  works  to  the  children  of  men." 
How  merciful  that  he  was  not  thrown  overboard,  without 
a  moment's  time  to  beg  favour  of  God.  But  if  the  child 
of  many  prayers  did,  in  his  sickness,  pray  himself  for  sal 
vation,  and  be  heard,  what  more  have  I  to  desire  ?  Some 
times  in  my  dreams,  I  have  seen  him  as  an  angel,  walk 
ing  on  the  waves,  and  reaching  his  hand  toward  me. — God 
grant  that  I  may  not  be  deceived  in  my  hope."  She 
paused,  to  wipe  the  tears  that  were  escaping  down  her 
cheeks  ;  and  recollecting  herself,  said,  "  I  ought  to  ask 
pardon,  for  talking  so  much  about  my  own  poor  con 
cerns."  Madam  L perceiving  that  her  brother  was 

interested  in  the  narration,  said,  "  I  am  always  edified  to 


76  SKETCH    OP    CONNECTICUT, 

hear  the  events  of  your  life,  my  good  Mrs.  Rawson  ;  for 
you  keep  in  view  the  Hand  that  rules,  both  under  the 
cloud,  and  in  the  sun-shine.  I  wish  you  would  relate  to  my 
brother,  what  you  have  told  me,  respecting  your  husband.'' 
"  He  was  a  man,"  she  answered,  "l  of  better  edu 
cation,  than  people  in  his  station  always  enjoy.  I  mar 
ried  him,  when  I  was  sixteen,  and  my  whole  endeavour 
was  to  please  him.  I  did  not  consider  that  it  is  our  duty 
to  seek  "first  the  Kingdom  of  God,  and  his  righteouc- 
ness."  My  husband  was  an  ambitious  man  :  and  at  last  be 
came  master  of  a  vessel.  He  was  always  looking  for  great 
things,  but  seemed  to  be  unfortunate.  While  he  was  gone 
whole  years,  I  would  live  upon  as  little  as  would  keep 
life  in  me,  so  as  not  to  be  a  burden  to  him  ;  and  some 
times  when  I  was  sick,  and  would  have  been  thankful  for 
six-pence,  to  buy  medicine,  a  letter  would  come  from  him, 
full  of  nothing  but  poetry.  Yet  I  was  rejoiced  to  see  only 
a  line,  vmtten  by  his  hand,  "  because  of  the  love  'I  bore 
him."  Once,  when  my  babes  and  I  were  really  in  want  of 
food,  there  came  from  him  a  present  to  me.  of  a  gold 
ring,  and  his  picture  as  big  as  life.  The  children  were 
frightened  to  death,  at  the  sight  of  such  a  great  face,  that 
did  not  talk  ;  and  they  cried  and  screamed  so,  that  I  had 
to  carry  it  up  garret,  and  turn  it  the  backside  out.  1  soid 
the  gold  ring,  and  bought  Indian  meal,  and  some  wool  to 
spin  stockings  for  our  bare  feet.  I  would  have  sold  the 
picture,  but  nobody  would  buy  it.  I  thought  it  was  not 
becoming  in  ma  to  keep  such  a  costly  thing.  I  wrote  to 


FORTY   YEARS   SINCE.  77 

my  husband  "  if  you  had  but  sent  me  a  piece  of  meat  as 
big  as  the  picture,  I  should  know  what  to  do  with  it. 
Here  are  three  little  mouths,  wanting  to  be  rilled,  that 
call  you  Father.""  But  he  meant  all  in  kindness.  Once 
he  sent  me  money  to  buy  a  small  house,  which  he  liked, 
But  the  man,  who  had  the  care  of  it,  spent  it,  and  before 
he  got  ready  to  pay  me,  he  failed,  and  could  not.  Yet  I 
found  that  what  I  repined  at,  was  in  mercy.  Not  long 
after,  that  very  house  took  fire  in  the  night,  and  burnt 
down  :  and  who  knows,  but  what  if  we  had  lived  there, 
one  of  the  children  might  have  been  burned  in  it  ? — 
After  some  time,  my  husband  came  home,  a  poor,  sick 
creature,  with  a  leg  to  be  taken  off.  I  felt  as  if  I  knew 
not  which  way  to  turn,  to  make  him  comfortable.  But 
strength  came  with  the  need.  The  doctor  was  favourable 
in  his  bill,  and  I  was  able  to  be  about,  both  day  and  night. 
My  husband  suffered  every  thing  in  the  operation,  and  in 
the  sickness  afterwards.  He  was  disappointed  at  being 
so  poor,  when  he  had  promised  himself  riches  ;  and  all 
together  made  him  very  unhappy,  and  violent.  His  oath? 
and  curses  made  me  tremble,  but  I  knew  that  he  was  in  mis 
ery,  and  my  prayers  rose  for  him  with  almost  every  breath. 
Those,  who  heard  him  speak  to  me,  thought  he  was  un 
kind,  but  they  did  not  know  what  he  suffered.  My  voice 
was  always  cheerful  to  him  ;  but,  when  he  slept,  I  took 
time  to  weep.  My  greatest  sorrow  was,  that  he  seemed 
to  be  hastening  into  the  presence  of  his  Maker,  with  a 
heart  bitter  against  him.  If  he  awoke,  and  I  was  not  by. 
7* 


78  SKETCH   OF    CONNECTICUT, 

he  would  shriek  after  me  in  a  voice  that  frightened  me, 
saying  that  when  I  was  away,  evil  spirits  came  to  tear 
him.  Yet  when  I  appeared,  he  would  sometimes  say, 
that  my  sight  was  hateful  to  him,  as  theirs.  Hi?  pain, 
made  him  loath  all  creatures,  and  himself  also.  But  God 
in  mercy,  gave  him  a  better  frame  of  spirit.  For  a  month 
before  his  death,  there  were  no  blasphemies,  but  prayers 
for  patience.  He  would  ask  me  to  read  from  the  good 
book,  and  listen  with  tears.  I  feared  to  say  much  to  him, 
because  of  his  weakness  ;  but  I  thanked  my  Father  in 
Heaven  for  his  altered  mind.  When  he  died,  he  looked 
at  me,  and  his  children,  with  a  mild,  pleasant  face,  and 
though  he  was  not  able  to  speak,  it  seemed  as  if  there  was 
peace  within  his  heart.  I  asked  him,  if  he  could  leave 
his  fatherless  children  with  God,  and  he  bowed  his  head 
with  a  smile,  that  lifted  a  weight  from  my  heart.  For 
many  months,  the  sound  of  his  groans  lingered  in  my  ears, 
both  when  I  lay  down,  and  when  I  rose  up,  but  I  commend 
ed  my  soul  to  the  God  of  the  widow,  and  was  preserved.'1 

>;  And  were  you  able,"  said  Dr.  L ,  "  to  support 

your  children  entirely  by  your  own  industry  T'* 

"  Oh  !  that  would  have  been  but  a  light  matter,  Sir," 
replied  Mrs.  Rawson,  "  for  they  were  ail  healthy,  and 
willing  to  help  according  to  their  years.  We  ate  our  hum 
ble  food  with  a  good  appetite,  and  found  at  nigln  that  the 
"'*  sleep  of  the  labourer  is  sweet,"  and  rose  in  the  morning 
with  thankful  hearts  to  Him  who  permitted  us  to  live  in  his 
good  and  beautiful  world.  Once,  when  we  were  eating 


FORTY   YEARS    SINCE.  79 

our  breakfas-t  of  potatoes,  the  youngest  boy,  who  was  then 
about  five  years  old,  lifted  up  to  me  his  bright  eye,  and 
rosy  face,  and  said,  "  Mother,  when  I  am  a  little  bigger, 
the  farmers  will  hire  me  to  work,  aifd  then  I  shall  bring 
you  home,  a  bushel  of  rye."  But  what  made  me  feel  for 
a  little  while,  as  if  I  did  not  know  how  to  get  along,  was 
when  my  father  and  mother  came  to  live  with  me,  just 
after  I  was  left  a  widow.  I  was  willing  to  work  my  ringers 
to  the  bone  for  them,  but  they  were  old,  and  infirm  people, 
and  my  house  was  very  small,  and  I  feared  that  I  could 
not  make  them  comfortable.  It  did  seem  to  me  too,  that 
my  sister,  who  sent  them  down  to  me  from  Vermont,  was 
better  able  to  take  care  of  them  than  I  ;  for  she  had  a 
husband,  and  a  good  farm,  and  was  well-off  in  the  world — 
while  I  had  to  work  early  and  late  to  get  my  children 
bread.  But  I  thought  again — God  has  ordered  it,  and  he 
will  provide;  though  I  have  not  even  a  barrel  .of  meal,  01 
a  cruse  of  oil,  like  the  widow  in  the  Old  Testament.  And 
so  it  was — we  were  all  able  to  live  upon  the  little  that  my 
hands  obtained,  until  my  poor  mother  became  sick  and 
bedrid  ;  and  then  the  good  people  were  very  kind  to  help 
me  to  medicines,  and  comfortable  things  for  her.  She  was 
a  heavy  woman,  and  in  lifting  her  I  strained  my  breast, 
.-o  that  it  has  never  been  strong  since.  But  how  much 
more  did  she  endure  for  me  in  my  infancy — and  how  small 
a  part  could  I  pay  the  mother,  who  had  patience  with 
my  helpless  and  wayward  years.  Often  have  I  thought, 
when  I  was  broke  of  my  rest  for  many  nights,  and  had 


80  SKETCH    OF    CONNECTICUT. 

laboured  hard  in  the  day,  "O  if  I  could  ever  find  it  in 
my  heart  to  forsake  ray  father  and  mother,  how  could  1 
hope  that  the  Lord  would  take  me  up  in  my  distresses. '" 
And  I  thank  Him  who  gave  me  strength  unto  the  end  ;  for 
their  aged  eyes  blessed  me,  when  their  voice  was  lost  in 
death.  "  Surely  goodness  and  mercy  have  followed  me 
all  the  days  of  my  life  ;  and  I  believe  there  will  always 
be  a  handful  of  corn,  on  the  mountain-tops  for  me." 

"God  will  bless  you,  good  woman,"  said  Dr.  L -, 

"he  will  be  your  shield  in  necessity,  and  reward  your 
piety  in  another  world."  Then  rising  to  depart,  he  put 
something  into  the  hand  of  his  sister,  saying,  "  Be  my 
almoner,  you  know  best  how  to  make  it  acceptable  to 
her.  I  perceive  there  are  some,  to  whom  it  is  safe  to 
give  money — in  whose  hands  it  ceases  to  be  the  u  root 
of  evil,"  and  bringeth  forth  good  and  peaceable  fruits." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"  Mistake  me  not  for  my  complexion — 
The  shadowed  livery  of  the  burnish'd  Sun, 
To  whom  I  am  a  neighbour,  and  near  bred. 
But  prove  whose  blood  is  reddest,  thine  or  mine." 

Merchant  of  Venice. 

In  the  neighbourhood  of  Madam  L ,  was  a  tenement, 

inhabited  by  an  aged  African,  whose  name  was  Primus. 
To  him  she  extended  not  only  her  benevolent  offices,  but 
her  kind  regard.  Venerable  at  once  for  years  and  vir 
tues,  he  was  respected  both  by  the  young  and  old.  His 
countenance  displayed  the  characteristicks  of  the  country 
of  his  birth  ;  and  though  his  features  might  war  with  all 
our  ideas  of  beauty,  yet  their  expression  caused  the  eye 
to  rest  on  them  with  complacency.  Seldom  is  master 
more  completely  modified  by  mind,  than  it  was  in  this 
case  ;  where  the  mild  eye,  beaming  Jove  to  mankind, 
made  the  beholder  forget  the  jutting  forehead,  and  de 
pressed  nostrils,  by  which  it  was  encompassed.  A  gentle, 
yet  dignified  deportment,  a  politeness  which  seemed  nat 
ural  to  him,  and  the  white  blossoms  of  the  grave,  curling- 
closely  around  his  temples,  suffered  not  materially  in  their 
effect,  from  the  complexion  which  an  African  sun  had 
burnt  upon  him.  It  was  remarked,  by  children  in  the 
streets,  that  no  one  bowed  so  low,  or  turned  out  their  toes 
-o  well  as  Primus  ;  nor  was  their  reverence  for  his  char- 


82  SKETCH    OF   CONNECTICUT, 

acter  abated,  because  they  found  him  "  guilty  of  a  skiii, 
not  coloured,  like  their  own."  Early  instructed  in  read 
ing,  and  the  principles  of  religion,  he  had  imbibed  an  ar 
dent  love  for  the  Scriptures,  and  stored  his  memory  with  a 
surprising  number  of  their  passages.  If  the  great  Selden 
merited  the  name  of  a  "  walking  dictionary,"  Primus 
might  have  been  styled  a  living  concordance.  At  the  pri 
vate  religious  meetings,  which  were  occasionally  held  by 
the  pious,  it  was  customary,  when  any  text  was  under  dis 
cussion,  whose  place  was  doubtful  in  the  memory  of  the 
speaker,  to  appeal  to  the  venerable  African.  Then,  from 
some  remote  corner,  a  modest  voice  would  be  heard,  to 
pronounce  with  precision,  respecting  the  chapter  and 
verse.  This  information,  which  his  humility  generally 
connected  with  some  expression  of  doubt,  was  almost  in 
variably  found  a  "  sure  word  of  testimony  ;"  for  he  had 
made  the  Bible  his  sole  study  from  his  youth,  exercising 
his  memory,  not  only  upon  its  substance,  but  upon  its  linkg 
of  connexion  and  dependance,  as  the  historian  clings  to 
chronology,  to  systematize  the  facts,  with  which  his  mind 
overflows. 

Primus  had  been,  for  more  than  half  a  century,  a  mem 
ber  of  the  Congregational  Church  in  his  vicinity.  We 
might  say  an  ornament  also,  if  the  circle  of  Christian  du 
ties,  and  spiritual  graces,  were  ever  found  so  umningled 
with  imperfection,  as  to  justify  such  an  epithet.  At  that 
most  solemn  ordinance,  appointed  by  the  Saviour  to  "  keep 
in  remembrance  hjs  death  tUl  be  come,"  the  devotion,  the 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  8li 

humility,  the  gratitude  of  this  participant  could  scarcely 
escape  observation.  While  he  bent  over  the  mysterious 
.symbols,  with. an  eye  now  fixed  on  the  earth,  now  humbly 
raised  as  if  in  the  language  of  an  ancient  supplicant,  "  let 
thy  servant  wash  the  feet  of  these  servants  of  my  Lord,-' 
those,  who  knew  the  purity  of  his  life,  would  often  utter 

mentally, — 

u  When  the  Archangel's  trump  shall  blow. 

And  souls  to  bodies  join, 
Millions  shall  wish  their  lives  below, 
Had  been  as  pure  as  thine." 

His  home,  which  was  comfortable,  and  comprised  two 
stories,  more  spacious  than  usually  fall  to  the  lot  of  Afri 
cans  in  this  country,  was  provided  for  him  by  the  family 
whom  he  had  served  in  his  youth.  They  had  become 
justly  attached  to  him  for  his  excellent  qualities,  and  for 
them,  he  testified  the  zeal  of  an  old  feudal  retainer. 
Though  four-score  years  had  passed  over  him,  he  still 
preferred  supplying  his  moderate  wants  by  occasional  la 
bour  in  the  gardens  of  his  neighbours,  to  a  dependance  on 
the  industry  of  his  daughterwho  resided  with  him.  Their 
habitation  was  situated  near  a  ledge  of  dark,  broken  rocks  ; 
between  whose  base  and  its  walls,  rose  a  School-house  of 
brick,  which  still  remains,  though  no  vestige  is  left  of  the 
abode  of  the  good  African.  The  noisy  inmates  of  that 
seminary  of  learning  used  often  to  pay  a  passing  visit  to 
Father  Primus.  He  kept  a  small  stock  of  walnuts  for 
the  good,  hence  the  good  were  most  frequently  his  guests. 
Often  would  the  red  tinge  in  their  cheeks  fade,  and  the 


84  SKETCH    OF    CONNECTICUT, 

dancing  blood  at  their  gay  hearts  be  cold  for  a  moment-, 
while  he  explained  to  them  the  only  picture  in  his  habita 
tion,  the  tearing  of  the  forty  and  two  children,  who  mock 
ed  at  the  bald-headed  prophet.  The  furious  deportment 
of  the  two  she-bears,  the  various  attitudes  of  torture  and 
•ieath  in  which  the  victims  appeared,  and  the  solemn 
enunciation  of  that  old,  grey-headed  man,  made  this  part 
of  the  bible  better  understood  than  others  by  the  breath 
less  listeners,  and  impressed  on  their  minds  the  turpitude 
of  reviling  age  and  piety,  more  than  the  formal  instruc 
tion  of  the  pulpit.  Sometimes  he  would  indulge  them 
with  the  story  of  his  captivity,  and  many  a  little  bosom 
'vould  beat  indignantly,  and  tears  would  gush  from  many 
a  fair  eye,  at  hearing  that  he  was  a  child  like  themselves, 
when  he  was  torn  from  his  native  land  to  be  made  a  slave. 
His  narrative,  when  divested  of  its  vernacular,  ran  thus  : — 
"  I  was  born  in  that  part  of  Africa,  which  lies  between 
the  Rivers  Gambia  and  Senegal.  The  king  of  our  tribe 
possessed  a  small  territory,  about  fifty  miles  from  the 
western  coast.  The  dwelling  of  my  parents  was  on  a 
branch  of  the  river  Senegal.  Its  humble  roof  was  over 
shadowed  by  lofty  palm-trees,  and  near  it  grew  yams,  and 
plantains  for  our  food.  Orange  trees,  and  shaddocks 
were  abundant  there,  and  the  pine-apple  might  be  seen, 
thrusting  forth  its  head  like  a  young  cabbage,  wherever 
we  trod.  There  was  war,  at  the  time  I  was  captured,  be 
tween  our  king,  and  the  chief  of  a  neighbouring  nation.  It 
was  begun,  in  order  to  obtain  prisoners  to  sell  to  the  deal- 


FORTY    YEARS  SINCE.  85 

ers  in  slaves,  ft  is  not  one  of  the  slightest  evils  of  the 
.slave-trade,  that  it  kindles  war  among  tribes,  who  would 
otherwise  be  at  peace.  The  sight  of  an  European  sail  is 
the  signal  for  dissension  and  robbery,  and  ere  the  ship  has 
arrived  at  its  harbour,  cottages  have  blazed,  and  blood  has 
flowed.  Those,  who  were  comparatively  innocent,  are 
rendered  sinful  by  those  who  have  more  light  and  know 
ledge  than  themselves,  so  that  the  Africans  who  inhabit  the 
shores,  are  worse  than  those  in  the  interiour,  who  have 
never  seen  a  Christian.  Nations,  who  deal  in  slaves,  have 
factors  or  merchants  stationed  along  the  coasts,  to  insti 
gate  the  avaricious  and  wicked  natives  to  sell  their  own 
countrymen.  Thus  private  robberies,  and  civil  wars  add 
to  the  desolations  of  Africa.  The  whites,  also,  sail  in  ves 
sels,  or  boats  up  the  principal  rivers,  and  make  victims  of 
those  who  may  escape  the  pursuit  of  their  agents.  They 
sometimes  march  with  considerable  force  into  the  country, 
and  seize  whole  families,  leaving  only  the  sick  and  the 
aged.  Alas !  they  have  not  always  left  these,  to  mourn 
the  loss  of  all  their  race.  They  have  staid  to  destroy 
those  lives,  which  they  deemed  not  worth  their  capture. 
When  the  English  ship  arrived  which  bore  me  from  Afri 
ca,  my  father  was  summoned  to  aid  in  defending  our  tribe 
against  the  inroads  of  a  powerful  chief.  I  had  attained 
the  age  of  ten  years,  and  was  left  to  stay  by  the  bed  of  a 
sick  mother.  I  said  to  her  in  my  simplicity — 

"  I  see  people  coming  towards  us  with  a  white  skin,  and 

their  voices  have  a  strange  sound." 
8 


36  SKETCH  OF  CONNECTICUT, 

"Hide  yourself,  my   son!     she  hastily  exclaimed. 
"  these  are  the  men  who  make  slaves  of  us." 

"  But,  in  a  moment,  their  grasp  was  upon  my  shoulder. 
She  shrieked  in  agony — "  Take  him  not  away,  he  is  ouv 
only  one.  Spare  him,  he  is  my  all.  He  is  but  a  child, 
what  service  can  he  render  you  ?  Take  me,  and  leave 
him,  for  when  this  sickness  departs,  my  hand  is  stronger 
than  his.  See  !  I  am  well  already.  I  will  labour  for  you, 
and  be  your  slave  ;  but  let  him  stay  to  comfort  his  fa 
ther." 

"  Ere  she  had  finished  speaking,  they  had  torn  me  away, 
I  gazed  back  on  my  dear  home,  and  saw  that  she  had 
crept  to  the  door,  for  she  was  unable  to  r/alk.  There  she 
lay  grovelling,  following  me  with  her  eyes,  and  filling  the 
air  with  incessant  screams,  while  she  implored  the  gods 
of  Africa  to  restore  her  child. 

"  All  that  day  we  travelled,  and  in  the  course  of  it 
were  joined  by  large  parties  of  slaves.  Muffled,  they 
were  not  permitted  to  speak  to  each  other,  but  groans 
were  heard,  and  tears  feH  without  measure.  Chained  to 
gether,  two  and  two,  they  were  driven  along  by  the  lash 
like  beasts.  At  night,  when  we  all  lay  down  to  sleep,  an 
arm,  raised  as  high  as  its  fetters  would  permit,  encircled 
me,  and  I  heard  the  whispered  words,  "  rest  your  head 
on  my  bosom." 

I  knew  the  voice  of  my  father.  But  I  could  not  look 
up,  for  my  heart  was  heavier,  to  find  him  in  that  place  of 
torment.  He  had  been  disarmed  and  sold  by  the  treache- 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  #7 

vy  oi  his  own  countrymen,  whom  he  was  hazarding  his 
life  to  defend.  The  next  day  we  were  put  on  board  the 
slave-ship.  Here  our  miseries  were  increased,  to  what 
seemed  at  first  view  insupportable.  We  were  forced  be 
tween  two  low  decks,  where  the  grown  people  could  not 
stand  upright.  So  crowded  were  we,  that  scarcely  twen 
ty  inches  of  space  were  allotted  each  in  his  living  coffin. 
Our  sufferings  for  want  of  air,  in  this  confined  prison,  I 
cannot  adequately  describe.  When  in  bad  weather,  the 
tarpaulin  was  drawn  over  the  hole  whence  we  received 
t'resh  air,  the  noise  of  hundreds  drawing  their  breath  as  if 
in  suffocation,  was  mingled  with  piercing  cries  of  "  kick- 
eraboo  !  we  die  !  we  die  !" 

"  Every  day,  except  in  cases  of  severe  storms,  they  were 
brought  on  deck  to  take  their  dinner,  which  consisted  of 
boiled  horse-beans,  and  rice.  After  this  they  were  com 
pelled  to  jump  for  exercise,  as  high  as  their  chains  would 
permit.  If  they  refused,  they  were  punished  with  the 
cat  of  nine  tails ;  if  they  complied,  the  irons  on  their  limbs 
caused  excoriations  of  the  flesh,  and  sprains  of  the  joints. 
They  were  ordered  to  sing  also.  But  only  lamentation? 
were  heard,  or  fragments  of  songs,  broken  with  sobs, 
speaking  of  the  palm-tree  shade,  and  the  home  of  their 
fathers.  Their  thrilling  and  mournful  voices,  with  what 
ever  burden  they  burst  forth,  «nded  in  the  same  word, 
•'Africa!  dear  Africa !" 

"  When  the  short  space  allotted  to  breathe  the  fresh  air 
had  expired,  if  any  testified  reluctance  to  be  packed  into 


88  SKETCH   OF    CONNECTICUT. 

their  living  tombs,  they  were  quickened  by  the  lash. 
Yet  if  I  could  only  be  placed,  where  I  might  see  the  face 
of  my  father,  I  seemed  to  forget  a  part  of  "my  sorrow. 
But  at  length,  as  I  watched  him,  tears  were  continually 
lying  upon  his  burning  cheek.  His  head  declined  upon 
his  breast,  and  he  forebore  to  look  at  me,  save  with  dead 
ly,  despairing  eyes. 

"A  terrible  sickness  was  beginning  among  the  slaves 
The  contagion  spread  rapidly,  for  those  who  might  have 
escaped,  were  often  chained  to  the  diseased,  the  dying, 
and  the  dead.  Numbers  were  removed  to  what  was  call 
ed  the  hospital.  Here  they  were  indeed  permitted  room 
to  stretch  themselves  out,  which  had  been  before  denied 
them.  But  it  was  upon  rough  boards,  when  the  motion  of 
the  ship  tore  the  flesh  from  their  bones.  Soon,  there  were 
spaces  enough  to  be  seen,  but  they  were  reddened  with 
the  blood  of  the  dead  who  had  filled  them.  Every  day, 
the  plunging  of  bodies  into  the  ocean  was  heard,  with  no 
more  concern  than  if  beasts  were  consigned  to  its  depths. 
Stern  joy  sat  upon  the  faces  of  the  sufferers.  They  com 
plained  not,  as  they  suffocated  in  the  pestilent  atmos 
phere.  They  thought  that  they  were  escaping  their  op 
pressors,  and  returning  to  the  home  of  their  ancestors. 

My  father  was  among  the  first  victims.  I  feigned  sick 
ness,  that  I  might  be  near  where  he  lay.  Not  a  groan 
escaped  him,  though  his  body  was  one  continued  wound. 
Constantly  panting  for  air,  which  was  denied  him,  hie 


FORTY    YEARS   SINCE.  89 

parched  lips  could  scarcely  utter  an  articulate  sound. 
But  as  he  drew  his  last,  long  gasp,  he  said, — 

"  Come  with  me,  my  son!  to  the  fields  of  pure  light, 
where  are  no  white  men,  no  slaves." 

"  I  was  stupid  for  many  days,  as  one  whose  mind  had 
forsaken  his  body.  Yet  I  escaped  the  pestilence.  So 
terrible  was  it,  that  out  of  800,  comparatively  few  remain 
ed,  More  attention  was  paid  to  the  health  of  the  survi 
vors,  as  the  owners  began  to  fear  it  would  be  a  losing 
voyage.  We  had  now  more  room,  and  a  less  corrupted 
atmosphere,  and  no  more  deaths  occurred  save  a  few  of 
broken  hearts. 

"  The  ship  landed  her  crew  in  New-York,  from  whence 
a  few  of  the  slaves  were  sent  to  Connecticut.  This  state 
had  not  then  prohibited  their  importation  ;  nor  has  it  un 
til  recently  decreed,  that  whoever  is  born  within  its  ju 
risdiction,  shall  be  free. 

"  My  lot -was  cast  in  this  place,  with  a  kind  master  who 
nt  his  death  gave  me  freedom.  I  was  about  his  person 
and  he  required  no  task  of  me,  beyond  my  years  and 
strength.  He  first  told  me  that  I  had  a  soul,  which  must 
be  forever  in  heaven  or  in  hell.  He  taught  me  to  read  in 
my  bible,  of  the  God  who  had  created  man,  of  the  Saviour 
who  died  to  redeem  him.  And  oh  !  that  knowledge  wa? 
worth  more  to  me,  than  all  I  had  suffered,  all  I  had  lost. 
Had  I  continued  in  Africa,  I  should  have  been  a  worship 
per  of  idols  that  cannot  save.  Ah  !  what  if  this  short  life 
were  all  of  it  sorrow,  if  when  it  endeth,  we  might  carry 


90  SKETCH   OF    CONNECTICUT, 

with  us  a  hope  that  can  never  fail,  a  glory  that  can  never 
die." 

It  has  been  mentioned  that  this  good  old  African,  had 
a  daughter  who  resided  with  him.  She  was  the  sole  sur 
viving  offspring  of  a  wife  who  had  been  many  years  dead, 
and  bore  no  resemblance  to  her  father,  either  in  person  or 
mind.  Without  being  decidedly  vicious,  she  might  be 
ranked  among  those  many  personages  who  prove  that  merit 
is  not  hereditary.  Having  but  little  employment  at  home, 
she  was  by  profession  both  spy  and  gossip  ;  not  that  the 
union  of  these  departments  is  peculiar,  or  monopolized  by 
females  of  her  colour  and  station.  Seldom  was  any  occur 
rence  in  the  household  of  her  neighbours,  unknown  to  her. 
The  incipient  designs  of  courtship  and  matrimony  were 
favourite  subjects  for  htr  boasted  discernment,  or  malig 
nant  prediction,  and  it  might  almost  be  said  of  her,  that — 

"  She  hated  men,  because  they  lov'd  not  kery 
And  hated  women  because  they  were  lov\i."'' 

She  was  time-keeper,  for  all  who  came  within  the  range 
of  her  acquaintance.  No  single-lady,  who  approached 
the  frontier  of  desperation,  could  presume  to  curtail  a 
year  from  the  fearful  calendar,  if  Flora  were  near  to 
bring  h»*r  back  to  the  correct  computation  of  her  O\VM  dsle. 
That  portion  of  the  affections,  which  Nature  had  intro 
duced  into  the  system  of  this  wayward  dame,  were  more 
liberally  bestowed  upon  animals,  than  upon  her  own  kind, 
Cats  were  her  principal  favourites,  and  wandered  around 
far  precincts,  irt  every  shade  and  diversity  of  col""" 


FORTV    YEARS   SINCE.  91 

Under  her  clement  reign,  they  waxed  fat,  and  multiplied 
exceedingly.  At  her  meals,  she  was  the  centre  of  a  circle, 
who,  with  lynx  eyes,  watched  every  movement  of  her 
hand  to  her  lips,  and  with  discordant  growling,  grudged 
every  morsel  which  was  not  bestowed  upon  them.  Some 
times  she  might  be  heard  by  those  who  passed  .ber  man 
sion,  addressing  her  dependants  with  every  appellation 
of  fondness  :  at  others,  with  bitter  vituperations  ;  while 
their  shrill  voices,  now  mingling  with  her  cadence,  and 
anon  leading  the  concert,  gave  notice  that  they  were  pay 
ing1  the  penalty  of  some  petty  larceny  on  the  larder.  Fre 
quently  she  was  seen,  issuing  from  her  habitation,  her  tall, 
gaunt  form  clad  in  a  sky-blue  tammy  petticoat,  partially 
concealed  from  view  by  a  short,  faded,  scarlet  cloak, 
bearing  a  basket  of  kittens  to  display  their  beauty  to  some 
amateur,  or  put  them  to  service  with  some  rat-infested 
householder.  Following,  with  distracted  haste,  the  mother 
Grimalkin  might  be  traced,  tossing  her  whiskers,  and 
tittering  piteous  moans  ;  occasionally  infixing  her  claws, 
in  the  stiff  blue  petticoat,  that  she  might  thereby  climb  to 
her  kidnapped  offspring.  The  bereaved  parent  would  be 
either  consoled  with  caresses,  or  distanced  by  a  blow,  as 
the  caprice  of  the  dame  might  dictate. 

Another  object  claimed  her  attention,  though  in  an  in- 
foriour  degree.  On  the  utmost  limits  of  the  parapet  of  rock, 
which  flanked  her  suburbs,  was  a  solitary  barberry-bush, 
which  possibly  she  felt  bound  to  patronize,  by  virtue  of 
?  Goddess  cf  Flowers.  To  this  spot,  the  visits 


92  SKETCH   OF    CONNECTICUT, 

of  the  children,  from  the  adjacent  ternpie  of  science, 
were  constant  as  the  advances  of  its  fructification.  Even 
the  leaves  did  not  come  amiss,  as  study  is  known  to  be  a 
provocative  of  appetite.  When  its  drupes  began  to  assume 
their  crimson  tinge,  dire  were  the  labours,  and  sore  the 
watchings  of  Flora,  between  the  depredations  of  the  ur~ 
ehins  without,  and  the  cats  within.  At  this  season  of  the 
year,  her  irascible  propensities  predominated  ;  and  many 
a  little  girl  has  vanished  like  a  frighted  bird  from  the 
contested  bush  ;  and  many  a  stout  boy,  with  teeth  OD 
edge  from  the  rough  acid  of  the  unripe  fruit,  has  lingered 
to  shout  defiance  at  the  threats  which  assailed  him. 

Her  principal  amusement,  amid  the  pressure  of  avoca 
tions  like  these,  was  to  trace  in  the  aspect  of  the  sky, 
signs  of  a  portending  storm.  No  mariner,  whose  life  bal 
ances  upon  the  cloud,  transcended  her  in  this  species  of 
discernment  ;  for  she  could  gather  amid  the  unsullied 
brightness  of  a  summer  sky,  omens  of  elemental  conflict. 
Her  delight  was  amid  the  convulsions  of  nature,  and  the 
deformities  of  character.  This  love  of  scandal  led  her 
to  dread  the  reproofs  of  Madam  L — —,  and  to  avoid 
her  presence,  except  when  she  found  it  expedient  to 
solicit  some  favour.  Her  father  was  ever  received  with 
kindness,  and  even  with  affection,  as  a  "brother  in  Christ. 
notwithstanding  his  bonds."  But  when  she  made  her  visita 
tions  to  set  forth  her  poverty,  before  this  benevolent  lady, 
she  invariably  received,  with  her  gift,  some  admonition 


v    FORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  93 

whose  severity  induced  her  to  murmur  as  she  returned  to 
her  dwelling. 

"''  It  is  well  enough,  for  aught  I  know,  for  rich  people 
to  be  so  mighty  good  ;  but  poor  folks  have  not  had  so 
much  eddecatiori)  and  must  take  the  world  as  they  find  it.v 

Yet  she  fo«nd  that  punishment  invariably  attends  the 
indulgence  of  unkind  feelings,  though  conscience  may 
have  become  too  obtuse  to  administer  it.  The  terrours  of 
superstition  haunted  her,  and  the  wakeful  hours  of  night, 
were  rendered  miserable  by  fears  of  ghosts  and  spectres.  • 
No  Neapolitan  ever  believed  more  firmly  in  the  influence 
of  an  evil  eye,  than  she  in  the  system  of  witchcraft.  The 
tragical  scenes  acted  at'Saleiri,  in  the  preceding  century, 
had  been  rendered  familiar  to  her,  by  the  pages  of  a  torn 
book,  which  she  perused  on  Sundays,  as  a  substitute  for 
the  bible.  All  things  monstrous,  or  mysterious  were  trac 
ed  by  her  to  a  similar  source.  The  unknown  stranger 
who  had  sought  refuge  in  the  abode  of  old  Zachary  at 
Mohegan,  was  to  her  a  meet  subject  for  explanation  dire. 
She  had  no  doubt,  she  was  one  of  that  race  who  held  com 
munion  with  evil  spirits.  Her  living  among  Indians  was 
a  sure  proof  of  that.  She  had  heard  that  when  people 
were  in  pursuit  of  her,  she  would  cast  a  mist  before 
their  eyes,  that  they  could  not  discover  her.  She  be 
lieved  that  at  her  first  arrival,  there  was  a  blue  flame 
and  a  strong  scent  of  sulphur  ;  and  hinted  that,  if  the 
"  Authority  of  the  Town,"  were  as  strict  as  they  ought  to 
be,  old  Zachary  would  be  committed  to  prison,  and  the 


94  SKETCH    OF    CONNECTICUT. 

creature  whom  nobody  knew,  tied  in  a  sack,  and  thrown 
into  the  river,  to  see  if  she  would  sink  or  swim.  Then 
lowering  her  voice,  she  would  assert  that  other  people, 
as  well  as  herself,  were  confident  that  she  was  a  witch, 
for  that  she  had  been  seen  to  rise  into  the  air  upon  a  broom 
stick  so  high,  that  she  appeared  no  larger  than  a  night- 
hawk.  This  mischievous  narrator  found  listeners  ;  for  at 
that  period,  low  scandal,  and  the  belief  in  the  contracts  of 
man  with  evil  demons,  were  popular  among  the  vulgar. 
Superstition  has  since  vanished  before  the  sway  of  yupe* 
riour  illumination  ;  but  slander  still  thrives  on  the  faults  of 
mankind.  They  are  still  forced  into  daily  circulation, 
though  not  always  by  those,  whom  society  condemns  as 
ignorant,  worthless,  or  malignant. 


CHAPTER  VH. 

"  Sacred  was  the  pen  that  wrote, 

Thy  father's  friend  forget  thou  not." 

Marmion. 

IF  to  confer  happiness  be  the  greatest  luxury,  he  who 
has  learned  to  impart  it,  with  the  least  labour,  may  be  con 
sidered  an  adept  in  a  highly  important  science.  Who 
ever  is  ambitious  of  this  distinction  would  be  wise,  some 
times  to  consult  the  enjoyment  of  children.  Here  the 
elastic,  unsubdued  spirit  will  co-operate  with  his  design, 
and  those  obstacles,  which  arise  from  habitual  sorrow, 
deep  knowledge  of  the  infirmity  of  our  nature,  or  sicken 
ing  acquaintance  with  the  insufficiency  of  earthly  pleas 
ures,  are  not  to  be  encountered. 

"  Theirs  are  the  joys  by  Fancy  fed, 
Less  pleasing  when  possest, 

The  tear  forgot,  as  soon  as  shed, 
The  sun-shine  of  the  breast." 

This  truth  was  well  understood  by  Madam  L ,  and 

practised  with  that  ardour  which  the  love  of  benevolence 
excited.  Her  object  was  not  that  indulgence  of  the  ap 
petites,  and  passions  of  children,  which  many  indolent 
teachers,  and  misguided  parents  seem  to  consider  their 
chief  good,  and  the  surest  method  of  conciliating  affection. 
She  perceived  that  the  fondness,  manifested  for  those  who 
procured  them  selfish  gratifications,  was  not  an  enduring 


96  SKETCH   OF   CONNECTICUT, 

attachment  ;  and  endeavoured  by  a  judicious  mixture  oi 
kindness  and  instruction,  to  win  their  confidence,  and  im 
press  the  truth,  that  they  were  rational  and  accountable 
beings. 

It  was  often  her  custom,  on  the  afternoons  of  their  stated 
release  from  school,  to  assemble  around  her  the  younger 
children  of  the  neighbourhood.  An  invitation  of  this  sort 
was  vjewed  by  them  as  an  honour  to  be  boasted  of,  as 
well  as  a  pleasure  to  be  enjoyed.  On  those  gala-days, 
they  might  be  seen,  seated  in  groups  around  her  feet, 
watching  with  sparkling  eyes  the  quick  movements  of  her 
scissors,  producing  for  their  amusement,  groups  of  danc 
ing  girls,  dexterously  cut  from  white  paper,  tall  trees,  with 
prominent  buds  and  leaves,  and  squirrels,  apparently  ready 
to  spring  from  bough  to  Dough.  When  these  fanciful  crea 
tions  had  sufficed  for  a  time,  a  small  cabinet  of  curiosities 
would  often  be  produced,  and  sundry  little  heads  might 
be  observed  hanging  over  it  in  such  close  contact,  that 
the  gold  and  chesnut  of  their  locks  blended  in  beautiful 
irregularity.  There,  counters  were  considered  as  coins, 
and  trifles  of  slight  value  esteemed  as  splendid  rarities  : 
yet,  perhaps  the  connoisseur  criticising  the  touches  of  the 
artist,  or  the  antiquary  bending  over  his  hoard,  might 
have  exchanged  their  heartfelt  satisfaction  with  this  sport 
ive  group,  and  sustained  no  loss.  Anon,  the  variable  little 
beings  would  be  searching  for  some  new  source  of  bliss  ; 
as  if  Nature  had  already  taught  them  that  novelty  was 
the  charm  of  earthly  pleasure,  but  withheld  the  bitter  cer- 


FORTY    YEARS  SINCE.  97 

tainty  that  "  ail  is  vanity."  One  of  the  most  enterpris 
ing  might  be  discerned,  mounted  on  a  high  chair,  with 
hand  extended  above  the  head,  to  a  well  known  deposito 
ry  of  books  for  children.  Then  would  be  seen  descend 
ing  into  the  wide-spread  white  apron  of  another,  a  shower 
of  tiny  volumes,  with  gilded  covers,  equally  the  admi 
ration,  and  desire  of  all.  There  were  divers  copies  of 
**  The  Bag  of  Nuts  ready  cracked,"  the  renowned  history 
of  "  Goody  Margery  Two-Shoes,"  and  the  marvellous  and 
dreadful  exploits  of  the  "Giant  Grumbolumbo."  The 
volumes  at  that  period,  appropriated  to  children,  were 
generally  of  meagre  variety,  and  questionable  excellence. 
Miss  Edgeworth  had  not  then  arisen  to  embody  the  traits 
of  nature  and  of  feeling,  in  a  vehicle  of  the  most  enchant 
ing  simplicity  ;  nor  Miss  More,  to  build,  upon  the  events 
of  humble  iife,  a  column  of  pure  morality,  and  majestic 
piety  ;  nor  Mrs.  Sherwood,  to  convey  to  the  understand 
ing  the  precepts  of  a  sublime  faith,  through  the  medium 
of  the  softened  affections.  The  pens  of  the  sage,  and  the 
historian,  had  not  then  learned  to  accommodate  them 
selves  gracefully  to  the  capacities  of  infancy.  Watts  had 
indeed  set  the  example  of  subduing  poetical  inspiration  to 
the  level  of  untutor'd  intellect.  He  had  lured  the  "  high 
born-Urania,"  to  warble  the  cradle  hymn  ;  but  he  had 
then  neither  precedent  nor  imitator.  Great  will  be  the 
responsibility  of  the  present  generation.  For  them  Gen 
ius  has  descended  to  definition,  and  Science  disrobed  her 
self  of  the  mystery  of  ages.  But  as  no  blessing  is  without 


OF   COA'KJfiCTICUT, 

alloy,  is  ii  wot  to  be  feared  that  these  privileges,  through 
Profusion,  may  frustrate  their  own  design  ?  If,  through 
their  aid,  no  "  royal  road  to  astronomy"  has  been  dis 
covered,  has  not  something  very  like  a  dunce's  avenue 
to  literature,  been  laid  open  ?  Will  the  mind,  which  is 
released  from  the  necessity  of  laborious  research,  obtain 
that  pre-eminence  which  habits  of  application  can  alone 
bestow  ?  Are  we  not  in  some  danger  of  having  more  super 
ficial,  than  profound  students?  The  supcriour  learning  ot 
the  ancients,  has  been  resolved  into  a  single  circumstance, 
—the  scarcity  of  books.  We  would  not  willingly  see  a 
-•eturn  of  that  scarcity  ;  yet  it  might  be  well  for  education 
TO  impress  on  youth  the  importance  of  making  itself 
master  of  the  necessary  elementary  works,  as  thoroughly 
as  if  there  were  none  beside.  This  might  demand  a  per 
severance  which  would  disturb  the  repose  of  indolence, 
but  it  would  strengthen  the  energies  of  intellect.  The 
respect,  which,  forty  years  since,  was  shewn  to  the  ex 
trinsic  value  of  books,  did  not  diminish  the  sense  of  their 
intrinsic  worth.  The  maxim,  then  enforced,  both  by  the 
parent  and  pedagogue,  that  it  was  shameful  to  deface  and 
destroy  them,  heightened  the  estimation  of  their  contents  ; 
as,  in  monarchical  governments,  the  sacredness  of  the  per 
son  of  the  King  gives  weight  to  his  prerogative.  Now, 
the  idler  in  school  finds  no  method  of  escaping  his  lessor, 
more  convenient,  than  to  render  it  illegible,  or  to  mislay, 
and  destroy  his  book. 
Madam  L -,  educated  in  the  sobriety  and  economy  of 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  99 

more  ancient  times,  entrusted  her  volumes  to  the  little 
readers,  with  repeated  injunctions  not  to  tear,  tarnish,  or 
turn  down  the  leaves.  .These  directions  usually  accom 
panied  those  also,  which  she  gave  as  presents,  and  so  well 
were  they  obeyed,  that  it  was  a  general  remark,  no  books 
retained  their  beauty  so  long  as  hers,  whether  lent,  given 
away,  or  retained  in  her  own  library. 

Some  of  these  fairy' forms  might  sometimes  be  descried 
in  closer  contact  with  the  Lady,  displaying  their  powers 
of  recitation.  Then,  might  be  heard,  in  every  variety  of 
emphasis  and  intonation,  the  standard  pieces  of  the  day, 
"  How  doth  the  little  busy  bee,"—"  Abroad  in  the  mead 
ows  to  see  the  young  lambs," — or  "  Though  I  am  young, 
a  little  one."  Thus,  an  opportunity  was  afforded  for  in 
quiry  into  their  different  grades  of  improvement  at  school, 
and  for  those  admonitions  respecting  the  value  of  time, 
industry,  and  correct  habits,  which  she  was  as  faithful  to 
impress  as  she  was  happy  to  adapt  to  different  disposi 
tions,  and  degrees  of  improvement. 

These  little  groups  could  not  be  persuaded  to  separate, 
without  a  song  from  their  kind  patroness.  Her  memory, 
well  stored  with  songs  which  had  been  fashionable  in  her 
youth,  and  her  voice,  of  great  melody  and  compass,  were 
always  at  the  command  of  these  lilliputian  visitants  ;  for 
she  felt  that  she  not  only  thus  gave  them  pleasure,  but 
cherished  gentle,  and  virtuous  sentiments.  "  The  dis 
tracted  Lady,"  a  tender  and  melancholy  complaint  of  a 
young  female,  bereft  of  reason,  was  a  great  favourite  with 


100  SKETCH   OF   CONNECTICUT, 

the  auditors.  So  was  "  Indulgent  parents  dear,':  an  an 
cient  ballad  of  considerable  length,  and  most  tragical 
character.  Many  an  eye,  that  eparkled  with  curiosity  ^ 
when  the  hero  of  the  tale,  moved  by  love,  sought  the 
hand  of  a  "  maid  of  low  degree,"  was  dilated  withhorrour, 
when  his  proud  mother  took  the  life  of  the  kneeling  fair- 
one  ;  or  was  suffused  with  tears,  when  the  unfortunate 
youth,  discovering  the  deed,  and  reproaching  the  guilty 
murderess — 


«* his  rapier  drew, 

And  pierc'dhis  bosom  through, 
And  bade  this  world  adieu, 
Forevermore." 

The  address  of  the  "  Ghost  ofPompey  to  his  wife  Cor 
nelia,"  was  considered  as  the  climax  of  this  part  of  the 
entertainment.  It  is  here  subjoined,  as  a  specimen  of  the 
grave  song,  admired  at  that  period  among  the  better  edu 
cated  part  of  the  community.  Its  antiquity  is  not  known 
to  the  writer,  but  it  has  been  used  as  a  song  in  Connecti 
cut,  for  more  than  a  century. 

"  From  lasting  and  unclouded  day, 
From  joys  refiVd,  above  allay, 
And  from  a  spring  without  decay — 

I  come  ! — by  Cynthia's  borrowed  beams* 
To  visit  my  Cornelia's  dreams, 
And  give  them  yet  sublimer  themes. 

Behold  the  man  thou  lov'dst  before  ! 
Pure  streams  have  wash'd  aw?<y  his  gore, 
\nd  Pompey  now  shall  bleed  no  more 


FORTY  YEARS   SINCE.  101 

By  death,  this  glory  I  assume, 

Nor  could  I  bear  the  fearful  doom, 

To  outlive  the  liberties  of  Rome. 

By  me,  her  changeful  fate  was  tried, 

Her  honour  was  my  dearest  pride, 

I  foritliv'd,  and  with  it  died. 

Nor  shall  my  vengeance  he  withstood, 

Nor  unattended  with  a  flood 

Of  Roman  and  Egyptian  blood ; 

Caesar  himself  it  shall  pursue, 

His  days  shall  troubled  be,  and  fe.w. 

And  he  shall  fall  by  treason  too. 

He,  by  seventy  divine, 

Shall  swell  the  offerings  at  my  shrint, 

As  I  was  his,  he  shall  be  mine. 

Regret  thy  woes,  my  Love,  no  more, 
For  Fate  shall  waft  thee  soon  ashore, 
And  to  thy  Pompey,  thee  restore ; 
Where,  past  the  fears  of  sad  removes, 
We'll  entertain  our  deathless  loves, 
In  beauteous  and  immortal  groves  : 
There,  none  a  tyrant's  crown  shall  wear, 
No  Coesar  be  dictator  there, 
Nor  shall  Cornelia  shed  a  tear. 

Perhaps  some  young  mind  imperceptibly  imbibed  a  love 
tor  the  lore  of  Rome,  from  the  explanations  often  con 
nected  with  these  quaint  stanzas,  whose  tune,  by  her  man 
ner  of  execution,  possessed  exquisite  harmony.  Inquiries, 
from  the  more  intelligent,  would  invariably  follow,  about 
Rome  and  Caesar,  and  "  Cynthia's  borrow'd  beams," 

which  the  Lady  answered  in  such  a  manner  as  to  excite 
9* 


102  SKETCH    OF  CONNECTICUT, 

stronger  curiosity.    She  would  then  direct  them  to  propel 
books  for  gaining  requisite  knowledge,  and  propose  ques 
tions  to  be  answered  respecting  it,  at  their  next  meeting. 
Frequently,  during  the   intervals  of  these  parties,  the  in 
fant  students  might  be  heard  asking  each  other,  "  do  you 
know  perfectly  where  Rome  was  ?  and  how  large  ?    and 
who  was  its  founder  ?  and  what  were  the  characters  of 
Poinpey  and  CaBsar  ?  and  why  Cynthia's  beams  are  said 
to  be  "  borrowed  beams  ?"     Each  was  anxious  to  render 
the  most  clear  account  to  their  kind  benefactress,  who 
often  rewarded  patient  research,  with  some  book  adapted 
to  excite  it  anew.   But,  not  satisfied  with  sowing  the  seeds 
of  knowledge  in  the  soil  of  infancy,  she  sought  to  implant 
the  germs  of  piety.  Her  stock  of  devotional  pieces  of  mu 
sic  was  large  ;  many  of  them  simple  in  their  construction, 
— all  rendered  delightful  by  her  powers  of  voice,  and 
perfect  elocution.     One  called  "Solitude,"  and  commenc 
ing  with  "  What  voice  is  this  I  hear  ?''  and  another,  which 
the  children  familiarly  styled,  ;'  Ah  me  !**  were  earnestly 
Bought  for,  and  seemed  to  inspire  a  mixture  of  softened 
and   solemn  feeling.     "  While  shepherds  watch'd   their   ; 
tlocks  by  night,"  was  understood  by  them  as  a  close  of 
their  musical  entertainment,  or  -j  signal  that  rts  much  as 
was  proper  had  been  accorded.   Yet  a  few  tender  remarks 
usually  followed,  on  the  character  of  that  Saviour  who  was 
thus  represented  as  bringing  peace  and  good  will,  with  a 
brief  illustration  of  their  duty  in  order  to  gain  his  love. 
\n  parly  ^jppec  was  given  to  these  joyous  guests,  most  of 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  103 

whom  were  accustomed  to  retire  to  slumber  with  the  birds. 
Full  of  pleasure,  which  seemed  more  dignified  than  that 
usually  exemplified  in  childhood,  because  it  was  derived 
from  a  higher  source,  they  separated,  praising  the  benevo 
lent  Lady,  who  expressed  such  an  interest  in  their  welfare. 
A  description  of  scenes  like  these  will  doubtless  be 
condemned  by  many,  as  puerile.  They  will  immediately 
discern  in  it  proofs  of  that  mental  dotage,  which  leads  us, 
in  our  second  childhood,  to  cling  tenderly  to  *the  most 
minute  traces  of  the  first. 

They  may  perhaps  inquire,  of  what  consequence  is  it 
if  the  children  of  another  age  were  amused  and  improved 
at  the  same  time  ?  Probably  of  none,  to  those  who  are 
willing  theirs  should  find  amusement,  at  the  expense  of 
improvement.  But  it  was  deemed  of  some  importance, 
in  pourtraying  a  character  which  really  existed,  to  repre 
sent  things  as  they  were.  It  was  not  thought  improper 
to  follow  the  smaller  streams,  which  might  diverge  from 
so  pure  a  fountain.  The  science  of  conferring  happiness 
depends  less  upon  splendid  achievements,  and  fortuitous 
combinations  of  circumstance,  than  upon  those  smaller 
occurrences,  which  vary  the  common  lot  of  existence  :  as 
the  evidence  of  piety,  is  not  so  much  in  sustaining  great 
affliction,  as  in  surmounting  those  slighter  perplexities, 
u'here,  if  we  may  use  the  expression,  the  soul  imagines 
herself  to  be  out  of  sight  of  the  Deity.  Yet  might  this 
simple  delineation,  of  what  one  of  the  best  of  humao 
:f  was.  in  the  humbler  walks  of  her  benevolence,  in- 


104  SKETCH   OF    CONNECTICUT. 

duce  but  one  heart  to  exercise  the  same  friendly  influence 
over  the  welfare  of  the  rising  generation,  cheerfully  should 
this  volume  sustain  all  the  censure  which  the  critic  might 
pronounce.  More  than  one  of  those,  who  now  bend 
beneath  the  burdens  of  maturity,  can  look  back  to  the 
scenes  of  happy  youthful  instruction  which  have  been 
here  depicted,  then  upward  to  the  realm  of  glory,  and 

say,— 

4t  If  some  faint  love  of  goodness  glow  in  me, 
Pure  Spirit !  I  first  caught  that  flame  from  thee." 

No  heart  ought  more  warmly  to  respond  these  senti 
ments,  than  that  which  now  thrills,  even  to  tears,  while 
the  hand  traces  this  feeble  transcript  of  its  benefactress. 
That  gratitude,  which  hovers  round  her  bright  image,  re 
volts,  both  at  the  veil  which  conceals  it,  and  at  the  faintnesE 
of  its  own  pencil.  It  is  not  meet  here  to  speak  of  per- 
sonal  obligations,  of  the  kindness  that  encouraged  a  lone 
ly  spirit,  and  the  monitions  that  strove  to  guide  it  in  the 
way  to  heaven.  The  still  voice  of  memory  is  idle  music 
in  the  ear  of  the  world.  Thus  far,  the  full  heart  has  forc 
ed  the  pen  to  trespass.  The  remainder  shall  be  inscrib 
ed  upon  a  tablet  which  fades  not,  and  which  will  be 
spread  where  the  righteous  hear  the  words,  "  Inasmuch 
as  ye  have  done  good  unto  one  of  the  least  of  these,  ye 
have  done  it  unto  me." 

There  was,  about  this  noble  female,  an  union  of  majes 
ty  with  mildness,  which  I  have  never  seen  equalled. 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  105 

Doubtless,  much  of  excellence  exists  in  modern  times, 
and  my  lot  has  been  so  graciously  cast  by  heaven,  as  often 
to  bring  me  into  contact  with  some  of  the  purest  and  best, 
some  who  still  retain  traces  of  that  disinterested  benevo 
lence,  which  the  cynic  pronounces  to  have  fled  from  the 
earth.  Yet,  whether  it  be  that  more  of  sublimity  really 
belonged  to  the  worthies  of  ancient  days,  or  whether  the 
moral  perceptions,  like  the  physical  tastes,  of  childhood 
possess  a  keenness,  a  zest,  which  never  again  return,  I 
cannot  say  ;  but  there  seems  to  me  nothing  now  on  earth, 
like  the  hallowed,  saintlike  dignity  of  a  few  who  were 
serenely  awaiting  their  departure  from  this  world,  when  I 
had  just  entered  it. 

Should  any  visitant  of  N ever  direct  his  steps  to  the 

spot,  where  its  lifeless  inhabitants  rest  from  their  labours, 
perchance  he  might  descry  a  simple  white  stone,  bearing 
one  inspired  passage  from  the  man  of  wisdom.  At  its  foot, 
a  smaller  monument  testifies,  that  Death  smiteth  the  bud 
in  its  greenness,  and  that  a  mother  had  thrice  wept.  By 
its  side,  another  speaks,  in  its  marble  stillness,  the  words 
of  the  moral  poet, 

"  What  tho'  we  wade  in  wealth,  or  soar  in  fame  ? 

Earth's  highest  station  ends  in,  here  he  lies, 

And  "  dust  to  dust !"  concludes  her  noblest  song." 

Let  the  stranger,  who  discovers  these  vestiges,  know 
that  his  foot  presses  the  dust  of  her,  of  whom  "  the  world 
was  not  worthy."  And,  if  he  believe  that  the  righteous 


106  SKETCH   OF   CONNECTICUT, 

shall  rise  to  immortality,  at  the  "  voice  of  the  archangel, 
and  at  the  trump  of  God,*'  let  him  kneel  over  their  slum 
bering  ashes,  and  breathe  the  soul's  voiceless  prayer,  that 
he  may  live  their  life. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

\  man  I  am,  of  quaint,  uncourtly  speech, 
And  uncouth  manners,  nurtured  from  iny  youti; 
To  hide  the  buffet  of  the  wintry  blast, 
And  toil  unshrinking  when  the  sultry  skies 
ScorchM  the  green  verdure  of  the  earth  I  till'd  ; 
Yet  not  by  health,  or  peace,  or  sweet  content 
Un  visited,  nor  yet  by  patient  trust 
In  Him,  the  harvest's  universal  Lord, 
UncheerM. 

THE  agricultural  part  of  Madam  L 's  possessions,  or 

as  it  is  styled  in  New-England  "  landed  estate,  "was  situa 
ted  in.  one  of  the  smaller  towns  in  the  vicinity  of  that 
where  she  resided.  It  was  under  the  care  of  a  farmer  of 
undoubted  integrity,  and  industry,  who  rendered  her,  with 
great  punctuality,  her  stipulated  share  of  its  products. 
His  father  had  been,  for  many  years,  tenant  of  the  same 
estate.  After  him  a  younger  son  succeeded  to  this  trust, 
but  died  at  an  early  age.  The  present  occupant,  being 
the  only  remaining  branch  of  the  family,  and  feeling  an 
affection  for  the  abode  of  his  infancy,  returned  from  "  up- 
country,"  where,  to  use  his  own  expression,  he  had  "  mov 
ed  to  make  room  for  brother  Zedekiah  ;"  and  resumed  with 
delight  the  culture  of  those  fields,  where  he  had"  driv- 
team  when  a  leetle  boy." 

Madam  L had  often  taken  pleasure  in  his  conver 
sation,  which  was  marked  with  that  plain  common-sense, 


108  SKETCH   OF   CONNECTICUT, 

which  seems  the  birthright  of  the  New-England  farmer, 
while  the  simplicity  of  his  opinions  on  some  subjects, 
and  the  oddity  of  his  dialect,  administered  to  her  enter 
tainment. 

Calling  one  morning  on  his  patroness,  for  whom  he 
cherished  a  respect,  almost  bordering  upon  adoration,  he 
was  requested  to  walk  into  her  parlour.  This  he  had  ever 
refused  to  do,  under  pretence  that  his  "  shoes  were  clum 
py,  and  he  was  afraid  of  meeting  some  of  the  gentlefolks, 
whose  ways  he  was  not  used  to."  But  she  being  some 
what  indisposed,  and  declining  to  go  into  her  kitchen,  he 
appeared  at  the  door,  with  a  well  meant  bow,  which  the 
dandies  of  the  present  day,  who  deal  principally  in  nods 
and  shrugs,  might  consider  a  semi-prostration.  Th,e  rev 
olution,  which  in  giving  us  liberty,  obliterated  almost 
every  vestige  of  the  politenes  of  the  "  old  school,"  had 
not  then  done  its  work  completely.  Individuals  were 
found,  forty  years  since,  in  every  grade  of  society,  who, 
having  been  educated  when  a  bow  was  not  an  offence  to 
fashion,  nor  respect  for  age  a  relic  of  monarchy,  continued 
the  exercise  of  both,  without  being  hooted  at  as  aristo 
crats,  or  "  quizzed"  as  antidiluvians. 

Farmer  Larkin  was  dressed  in  a  suit  of  steut  cloth, 
whose  deep  brown  colour  was  produced  by  an  infusion  of 
the  bark  of  the  butternut.  It  had  grown  the  preceding 
summer  upon  his  own  sheep,  and  after  sustaining  many 
processes  of  mutation  in  the  domestic  laboratory,  now  ap 
peared  upon  his  o*wn  person.  The  mail  of  Diomede  was 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  109 

not  more  invulnerable  to  the  shafts  of  the  Trojans,  than 
this  to  the  attacks  of  winter  ;  and  if  a  crevice  ever  ap 
peared  in  it,  the  arts  of  housewifery  were  in  instant  requi 
sition,  like  "  armourer  accomplishing  the  knight,  with 
busy  hammers  closing  rivets  up." 

A  neat  broad  brimmed  hat,  which  his  father  had  worn 
on  great  occasions  for  half  a  score  of  years,  a  drab  colour 
ed  great-coat,  with  deep  cuffs,  and  huge  buttons,  both 
taken  from  the  Sunday  wardrobe,  out  of  reverence  to 
"  the  Lady,"  and  vast  shoes  of  the  skin  of  that  animal 
whom  the  Brahmins  worship,  completed  his  array.  His 
countenance,  where  the  blasts  of  winter,  and  heats  of  sum 
mer  had  long  set  their  seal,  exhibited  that  decision,  and 
contempt  of  bodily  hardship,  which  in  ancient  Sparta 
was  dignified  as  a  virtue.  It  also  displayed  that  mixture 
of  sobriety  with  contentment,  resting  on  the  basis  of  mod 
erated  desires,  and  humble  piety,  which  often  gives  the 
agriculturist  of  our  country  a  dignity,  which  Sparta  in 
her  pride  never  knew. 

Mr.  Larkin,  at  entering  the  apartment,  seemed  desirous 
to  make  his  way  on  that  narrow  stripe  of  the  floor,  which 
in  those  days  was  always  permitted  to  surround  the  car 
pet.  At  length  a  large  table,  which  he  doubted  whether 
it  were  decorous  for  him  to  move,  obstructed  his  course, 
and  he  exclaimed  with  some  perplexity, — 

"  I  must  tread  on  the  kiverlid."  The  Lady  suppress 
ing  a  smile,  said, — 

"  I  beg,  good  Mr.  Larkin,  that  you  would  step  on  the 


-10  o*ETCH    0* 

overlet.  It  would  save  Beulah  some  labour,  who  prides 
herself  on  the  whiteness  of  the  floor,  which  she  daily 
scours." 

Thus  assured,  he  made  one  or  two  strides  towards  a 
chaii  which  she  placed  for  him,  walking  on  tiptoe, 
and  murmuring  with  some  regret,  as  he  rested  his  heels 
7ipon  the  hearth, — 

"  Your  ha-ath  too,  is  as  clean  as  a  cheeny  tea-cup, 
^la'am.  I  hate  to  put  my  coarse  huffs  on  it.  But  I  ha'nt 
been  used  to  seem'  kiverlids  spread  on  the  floor  to  walk  on. 
We  are  glad  to  get  'em  to  kiver  us  up  with  a  nights. 
This  looks  like  a  boughten  one,"  he  added,  examining 
'he  figure,  and  feeling  its  texture.  "  'Tis  exceedin'  cu- 
rous.  They  must  have  had  a  pretty  many  treadles  in  the 
•oom,  that  wove  this." 

The  Lady  remarked  that  the  use  of  carpets,  like  other 
uixuries,  was  gaining  ground  too  rapidly  among  those  who 
were  often  deficient  in  real  comfort.  "  Silks  and  satins 
put  out  the  kitchen- fire,  as  a  wise  man  has  said," 

4i  Ay,  Ma'am,  he  answered,  just  so  I  tell  my  young  gals, 
when  they  get  a  teasin'  their  mammy,  for  somethin'  fine  ; 
and  gay.  See  to  your  under- riggin',  I  tell  'em,  and  keep 
yourselves  whole  and  neat.  It's  as  much  as  I  can  do,  to 
get  along,  says  I,  in  any  comfortable  kind  of  a  way  with 
such  a  snarl  on  ye.  And  if  there  was'nt  so  many,  says  1, 
and  I  was  a  monied  man,  ye  should  not  go  a  flauntin1 
around  with  your  top-knots,  for  there's  no  use  in  'em,  but 
to  make  young  folks  vain,  and  silly  ones  stare,  If  ye  Jam 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  Ill 

to  be  extravagant,  ye'll  be  likely  to  be  old  gals  all  your 
days,  for  men  are  afeard  to  marry  women  who  spend 
money,  and  never  make  it." 

The  Lady  expressed  her  approbation  of  his  correct 
judgment,  and  inquired  after  the  welfare  of  his  family. 

"  All  stout  and  hearty,  thank'e  Ma'am.  My  wife  sent 
compliments  to  you,  and  Molly  tell'd  me  to  say,  that  she 
was  a  thousand  times  beholden  to  you,  for  your  good  pre 
sent.  She,  and  all  on  'em,  wishes  you  a  happy  New- 
Year." 

"  I  thank  them  for  their  kind  recollections.  Molly,  I 
think,  is  the  plump  girl  with  such  rosy  cheeks." 

"  Why,  as  for  that  matter,  they're  all  in  the  same  situa 
tion,  as  plump  as  patridges,  and  swarmin'  round  like  bees. 
Molly's  the  oldest  on  'em,  and  as  fat  as  butter.  She'll  be 
fourteen  years  old,  come  the  tenth  day  o'  February — and 
that  will  be  Sabba-day  arter  next.  She  weighs  about  twice 
as  much  as  you  do,  Ma'am,  I  guess.  She's  rather  more 
stocky  than  her  mother,  and  I  hope  will  be  as  smart  for 
bizness.  She'll  spin  her  run  o'  tow-yarn,  or  woollen, 
afore  dinner  ;  and  she  has  wove  six  yards  a  day,  of  yard- 
wide  sheetin'.  She  takes  in  weavin',  when  any  body  will 
hire  it  done,  and  so  buys  herself  her  bettermost  does, 
which  is  a  help  to  me.  Jehoiakim,  the  oldest  boy — he's 
named  arter  his  grandad dy — and  is  a  stout,  stirrin'  young 
ster.  He'll  hoe  nearabout  as  much  corn  in  an  hour,  as  I 
can ;  and  cold  winter  days,  he'll  chop  and  sled  wood 
through  the  snow,  without  frettin'  a  bit.  But  I  s'pose  'tanl 


112  SKETCH    OP    GONNECTieUT. 

right  and  fiitin'  to  brag  about  my  children,  Ma'am.  Il 
seems  as  if  I  thought  my  geese  were  all  swans." 

"  It  gives  me  pleasure,  my  good  friend,  to  hear  of  the 
welfare  of  your  family,  and  the  habits  of  industry  in  which 
you  are  training  them.  I  hope  that  you  are  also  careful, 
that  their  minds  are  stored  with  useful  knowledge." 

"  O  yes  Ma'am.  They  all  go  to  the  deestrict-schoolf 
more  than  ha-af  o'  the  winter  ;  though  it's  nigh  upon  two 
mild  from  the  house.  In  the  summer  time,  it's  kept  a  lee- 
tie  spell  by  a  woman — and  then  the  younger  ones  go,  to 
keep  'em  out  o'  the  way  o'  them  who  are  glad  to  work  at 
home.  I  s'pose  they  larn  some  thin*  about  sewin'  and 
veadin'.  But  Tim,  the  third  child,  he's  the  boy  for  larn- 
in'.  He  took  a  prodigious  likin'  to  books,  when  he  was  a 
baby  ;  and  if  you  only  show'd  him  one,  he'd  put  it  rite  into 
his  mouth,  and  stop  squallin.'  He  'ant  but  eleven  year 
old  now  ;  and  when  he  gets  a  newspaper,  there's  no  whoa. 
to  him,  no  more  than  to  our  black  ox  when  he  sees  the  hay- 
stack,  till  he's  read  it  clear  through,  advertisements  and 
all.  The  Master  says  that  he's  the  smartest  of  ail  the 
boys  about  spellin',  and  now  he  takes  to  cypherin'  mar 
vellously.  So  that  I  don't  know  but  sometime  or  other, 
he  may  be  hired  to  keep  our  deestrict-school.  But  I 
hope  my  heart  a'nt  lifted  up  with  pride,  at  sich  great 
prospects,  for  I  know  that  "  God  resisteth  the  proud,  and 
giveth  grace  unto  the  humble." 

"I  trust  you  will  always  remember  that  humility  i* 
necessary  to  our  religion.  But  it  is  equally  your  duty  to 


FORTY   YEARS    SINCE.  113 

receive  the  gifts  of  God  with  gratitude,  and  to  enjoy  them 
with  a  cheerful  spirit.  I  know  not  that  I  recollect  the 
names  of  all  your  children." 

"  It's  no  wonder  that  ye  don't  Ma'am,  there's  such  a 
neest  on  'em.  They're  as  thick  as  hops  round  the  fire 
this  winter.  There's  Roxey  and  Reuey,  they're  next  to 
Tim,  and  look  like  twins.  They  pick  the  wool,  and  card 
tow,  and  wind  quills,  and  knit  stockins  and  mittins  for  the 
fokes  in  the  house  ;  and  I've  brought  some  down  with  me 
to  day,  to  see  if  they'll  buy  'em  to  the  marchants'  shops, 
and  let  'em  have  a  couple  o'  leetle  small  shawls.  Then 
there's  Keziah,  she  'ant  but  a  trifle  over  six  year  old,  and 
I  recken  she  has  a  kind  of  a  hard  time  on't ;  for  she  takes 
most  o'  the  care  o'  the  three  youngest  ones.  Jehu  is  about 
as  big  as  she  is,  and  pretty'  obstropolous,  so  that  I  have  to 
take  him  in  hand,  once  in  a  while.  Then  there's  young 
Tryphena,  and  the  baby  Tryphosa,  who's  rather  tcnd- 
some,  and  Keziah's  tied  to  'em  a'most  every  minute  when 
she  'ant  abed.  So  her  Mammy  is  able  to  see  to  the 
cheese-tubs,  for  you  know,  sich  a  dairy  as  we  have  keeps 
a  woman  pretty  tight  to't.  There's  nine  o'  the  young 
ones,  Ma'am,  and  as  1  said  afore,  the  oldest  is  but  e'en  a 
just  fourteen.  Yet  I  should  be  sorry  to  have  one  less, 
though  1  should  work  off  my  fingers'  eends  clear  to  the  bone 
lo  maintain  'em.  I'm  willin'  to  slave  for  'em,  but  I  mean 
they  shall  do  their  part,  and  not  grow  up  in  idleness  to 
laff,  and  make  game  of  their  old  hard-workin'  parents,  and 

10* 


114  SKETCH   OP   CONNECTICUT* 

be  moths  in  the  world,  arter  they  get  to  be  men  and 
women." 

The  paternal  narrative  was  interrupted  by  Cuffe  bear 
ing  refreshments  ;  for  the  Lady  seldom  permitted  any  onf 
to  leave  her  mansion,  without  partaking  its  hospitality, 
A  well  warmed  mince-pye,  and  a  mug  of  sparkling  cider, 
she  had  supposed  would  be  useful  in  guarding  the  farmer 
from  the  extreme  cold  of  his  ride  ;  and  he  soon  convinced 
her,  by  his  formidable  attacks  upon  both,  that  she  had  not 
misjudged  in  the  question  of  what  was  palatable.  After 
despatching  his  refection,  and  some  business  respecting 
the  farm,  he  hesitated  slightly  and  said — 

"  I  wonder  now,  if  you'd  take  it  hard,  Ma'am,  if  I 
should  trouble  you  with  some  o'  my  own  family  consarns, 
and  ax  your  advice  about  'em,  seein' you've  had  more 
years,  and  experunce  than  I  ?"  The  Lady  assured  him  of 
her  willingness  both  to  listen,  and  to  serve  him,  according 
to  her  ability. 

"  Well  then,  it's  all  about  my  nephew,  Amariah  Stut- 
-on.  He's  liv'd  with  me  now  goin'  on  ten  year,  About 
the  time  o'  my  movin'  into  York  Slate,  his  daddy  died, 
and  the  children  was  all  necessiated  to  be  put  out.  My 
old  woman,  she  set  on  me  to  take  this  boy,  cause  he  was 
her  sister  Jemima's  son,  and  she  always  set  great  store  by 
"Mima.  I  telPd  her  he  was  a  spindlkj',  white-liver'd 
thing,  and  never'd  stand  the  fever  and  agy  in  the  new 
countries.  But  she  kept  at  me,  till  she  had  her  way,  as 
*romen  are  pretty  apt  to  do  ;  and  he  did  better  than  I  es> 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  115 

pected,  and  grow'd  up  to  a  chunked,  healthy  youngster. 
He'll  be  19  year  old,  come  next  April-fool-day  ;  and  I 
meant  to  a  done  well  by  Amariah,  when  he  got  to  be  of 
age,  and  give  him  a  decent  settin'  out,  and  then  hired  him 
by  the  month,  if  so  be  that  he  was  agreeable  to't,  and  pay 
him  the  money. 

But  he's  growin'  despate  unstiddy  of  late,  ever  since 
the  judgment  o'  God  upon  our  church,  and  congregation, 
in  lettin'  the  Methodist  loose  among  us.  You  ha'nt  heard 
of  our  chastisement  for  our  backslidins,  and  lukewarm- 
ness,  have  ye,  Ma'am  ?  Poor  Deacon  Bump  takes  it  to 
heart  so  sadly,  that  he's  grown  as  thin  as  a  June-shad. 
Why  these  people  have  hired  a  room  rite  over  acrost  the 
way  from  our  meetin-house,  and  when  our  worthy  minis 
ter  begins  the  sarvice  a  Sabba-day  mornin',  they  begin 
what  they  call  their  exercises,  and  what  with  their 
screechin'  and  scramin',  and  singin'  and  tumlin'  down, 
they  make  sich  a  racket,  that  it's  utterly  unpossible,  for  us 
to  hear  any  thing  to  be  edified  with.  They  hold  out 
longer  than  we  too,  and  have  love-feasts,  and  night-meet- 
ins,  and  a  deal  that  I  cant  make  neither  head  nor  tail  on, 
and  I  grieve  to  say  that  Amariah  is  gittin'  bewitched  arter 
'em.  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  religion  there  can  be  in 
sich  actions,  and  as  for  their  lungs,  if  they  vva'nt  made  o' 
soal-luther,  I'm  sure  they'd  be  wore  into  holes  like  a 
honey -comb." 

"  The  Methodists,  my  good  friend,  though  their  manner 
of  worship  differs  from  ours,  must  not  be  thought  destitute 


116  SKETCH   OF    CONNECTICUT, 

of  true  piety.  They  sometimes  exhibit  an  excess  of  that 
zeal,  which  we  are  reproached  for  being  deficient  in, 
We  should  guard  against  condemning  those,  who  differ 
from  us  in  opinions,  or  forms.  They  may  have  as  much 
sincerity  as  ourselves,  and  though  "  man  judgeth  accord 
ing  to  the  outward  appearance,  you  know  who  iooketh  up 
on  the  heart." 

"  Land  o'  Goshen  !  why  Lady  !  You  don't  think  that 
all  the  crutters,  who  call  themselves  Christians,  are  as 
right  as  we,  do  ye  ?  There's  the  Episcopalians,  I  went 
to  their  church,  once  at  the  landin'  a'  Christmas  I  think 
they  call'd  it.  I  took  it  at  first,  for  a  merry-makin',  there 
was  so  many  green  branches  plastered  up  here  and  there  : 
but  they  kept  such  a  perpechual  jumpin'  up,  and  sittin' 
down,  that  afore  they'd  done  it  made  my  bones  ache  as 
bad  as  a  hard  day's  work.  What  religion  there  is  in  read- 
in'  prayers  out  of  a  book,  I  never  could  see.  Then  there's 
the  Baptists,  who  think  a  man  is  to  be  saved,  by  sousing 
over  head  and  ears  in  cold  water.  But  these  Methodist 
folks  seem  to  me  the  most  strangest  of  all,  Why  they 
don't  hold  to  the  doctrine  o'  lection,  and  them  that  won't 
believe  the  Bible,  when  it's  as  plain  to  'em  as  the  nose  on 
their  face,  have  denied  the  faith,  and  are  worse  than  an 
infidel.  They  make  a  long  talkin-  too,  about  arrivin*  at 
perfection,  and  Amariah  he  holds  forth  consarniir  it.  But 
I'm  sure  he's  a  great  deal  more  unparfect  than  he  was. 
when  he  was  just  a  larnin'  by  heart  in  his  catechise, 
that  "  no  meer  man  since  the  fall  is  able  to  keep  the  com- 
mandaments."  Now,  he  must  go  racin'  to  all  the  night 


FORTY    YEARS   SINCE.  117 

meetins',  and  that  makes  my  boys  unstiddy,  and  teaze  to 
go  long  with  him.  They  shan't  stir  a  step  while  I  live. 
Was'nt  their  honoured  grandaddy  deacon  in  the  Presby 
terian  meet  in'  fifteen  years  and  better  ?  They  sha'nt 
scandalize  him,  while  I  have  the  rule  over  'em. 

But  as  I  was  a  sayin'  of  Amariah,  he  tells  his  expe- 
runces  at  their  meetin's,  and  sometimes  at  twelve  o'clock 
at  night,  he'll  wake  up  in  his  bed,  and  scrame  some  o' 
the  Methodist  hymns  so  loud,  that  he  sets  the  baby  a 
roarin',  bein'  scared,  and  no  crutter  in  the  house  can  get 
one  wink  o'  sleep  till  he's  a  mind  to  give  over.  Then  if 
I,  or  his  A-ant,  open  our  heads  to  say  one  word  to  him 
about  it,  then  he  makes  a  towse,  and  is  parsecuted,  and  I 
s'pose  tells  an  experunce  out  on't  to  Mr.  Snortgrass,  his 
minister,  who  is  a  terrible  tonguey  man." 

"  Your  situation,  good  Mr.  Larkin,  requires  considera 
ble  delicacy.  Yet  I  can  assure  you,  that  Mr.  Whitfield, 
the  leader  of  a  great  part  of  the  sect  of  Methodists,  was 
a  mamof  real  excellence  and  piety.  My  husband,  who 
was  educated  in  the  same  faith  which  we  profess,  and  was 
sincerely  attached  to  its  precepts,  possessed  that  liberal 
ity  of  soul  which  I  strive  to  imitate,  arid  gave  to  differing 
sects  the  praise  of  whatever  virtue  they  displayed.  Mr. 
Whitfield  was  always  an  honoured  guest  at  our  house, 
when  he  made  his  excursions  through  this  part  of  the 
country-  *  will  relate  a  little  anecdote  of  hinr,  which 
may  prove  to  you,  how  much  his  thoughts  were  fixed  upon 
a  future  state.  Soon  after  the  death  of  our  three  little 
sons,  he  breakfasted  with  us.  Some  Chocolate  was 


118  SKETCH  OF   CONNECTICUT, 

brought  in,  and  the  recollection  of  their  fondness  for  thai 
beverage,  and  of  their  recent  burial,  brought  tears  to  my 
eyes.  My  husband  explained  the  emotion  by  saying, 
"  she  thinks  of  the  olive- plants  that  once  flourished  around 
our  table,  and  in  one  week  were  smitten/*  The  Divine 
for  a  moment  raised  his  eyes  upwards,  then  laying  his 
hand  upon  the  head  of  my  husband  said,  with  a  vivacity 
and  earnestness  which  characterized  him,  '*  My  dear 
Doctor  !  what  a  lift  is  this  towards  heaven." 

**  Well  Ma'am,  I  s'pose  that  was  clever  enough  since 
you  think  so.  But  most  folks  would  say  it  sounded  des- 
pate  like  want  o'  feelin',  not  to  seem  to  be  sorry  for  you, 
nor  nothin'  sich-like.  Now,  what  would  ye  have  me  to 
do  about  Amariah's  business,  for  it's  high  time  for  me  to 
be  a  gittin'  under  way,  Ma'am." 

"  Mr.  Larkin,  your  own  good  sense  will  guard  yon 
against  any  violent  opposition  to  a  young  man  who,  if  he 
is  deceived,  deserves  pity,  if  sincere,  candour.  This 
strong  excitement  will  be  likely  to  pass  away,  if  *you  do 
not  nourish  it  by  waking  angry  passions.  Extremes  are 
not  apt  to  be  lasting,  and,  in  any  case,  moderation  will  b*  ' 
most  effectual.  Remember,  my  friend,  that  contention 
about  doctrines,  is  neither  that  love  which  is  the  evidence 
of  the  Spirit,  nor  that  holiness,  without  which  no  man 
shall  see  God.  And  I  doubt  not  that  you  will  feel,  after 
a  little  more  reflection,  that,  as  long  as  we  are  so  compass 
ed  about  with  infirmity,  we  should  dread  to  judge,  lest 
we  also  be  judg'ed,  or  to  condemn,  lest  we  be  condemn 
ed." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

"  See !  See  !  his  face  is  black,  and  full  of  blood, 
His  eye- balls  further  out,  than  when  he  liv'd, 
Staring  full  ghastly,  like  a  strangled  man." 

2nd  part  of  Henry  6th. 

THE  seventy  of  the  wintry  season  had  apparently  sub 
sided.  The  frosts  had  begun  to  evacuate  their  strong 
•holds,  and  through  the  intervals  of  dissolving  snow,  tufts 
of  soft  green  were  visible.  But,  by  one  of  those  sudden 
revolutions,  to  which  the  climate  of  New-England  is  sub 
ject,  the  approaches  of  spring  were  checked  by  the  re 
turning  ravage  of  winter.  A  violent  storm  from  the  north 
east  arose,  attended  with  great  quantities  of  sleet  and 
snow.  The  trees  bent  heavily  beneath  their  load,  while 
huge  drifts  covered  the  fences,  and  lay  in  banks  against 
the  walls  of  houses.  In  some  instances,  much  toil  was  re 
quired,  ere  the  inmates  could  remove  the  rampart  from 
their  doors  and  windows,  and  emerge  into  the  light  of 
day.  Heavy  sleds,  with  each  a  score  of  oxen,  traversed 
the  roads,  to  beat  a  path  for  the  imprisoned  inhabitants. 

In  Mohegar^  most  of  the  wigwams,  which  stood  within 
range  of  the  winds,  were  hidden.  Yet,  in  a  few  instan 
ces,  the  cone  of  the  arbour-like  dwelling,  thatched  with 
matting,  was  seen  like  a  dark  hillock,  breaking  the  daz 
zling  and  dreary  surface.  The  habitants  forcing  their 
way  from  their  buried  abodes,  surveyed  the  chauge,  which 


120  SKETCH  OF  CONNECTICUT, 

the  tempest  of  night  had  wrought,  with  that  equanimity 
which  distinguishes  the  North  American  Indian.  To 
testify  surprise,  they  consider  as  betraying  weakness. 

An  instance  of  this  was  exhibited  among  one  of  the  tribes 
in  the  vicinity  of  Niagara,  during  the  total  eclipse  ot  the 
Sun,  in  the  summer  of  1806.  As  they  had  heard  no  predic 
tion  of  the  event,  and  a  similar  one  had  not  occurred  for 
several  centuries,  it  was  believed  that  they  would  scarcely 
be  able  to  refrain  from  expressions  of  astonishment.  When 
the  sky  suddenly  became  dim,  and  the  slars  appeared  at 
noon-day,  they  were  observed  by  some  travellers,  view 
ing  the  progress  of  the  phenomenon  with  great  attention  ; 
but  at  the  same  time  remarking,  with  their  usual  apathy, 
that  "  they  had  seen  such  things  before." 

On  the  present  occasion,  those  natives  of  Mohegan,  who 
obtained  egress  most  easily  from  their  partially  encum 
bered  cells,  were  moved  by  sympathy  to  lend  assistance 
to  their  less  fortunate  neighbours.  Night  was  approach 
ing,  ere  this  labour,  with  their  insufficient  implements, 
had  been  successfully  accomplished.  A  party  of  these 
pioneers  met  their  minister,  who  had  left  his  abode  with  • 
the  same  benevolent  intention. 

"  My  children,  he  said,  we  must  force  our  way  to  the 
cave  of  old  Maurice.  Who  knows  that  he  perished  not, 
amid  the  storm,  and  cold  of  the  past  night  ?" 

Animated  by  the  words  and  example  of  their  guide, 
they  commenced  the  difficult  course.  Often  they  strug 
gled  through  deep  mounds,  as  the  swimmer  breasts  the 


FORTY   VEARS  SINCE.  Uj 

wave,  ere  they  saw  the  still  distant  pile  of  rock,  rising  like 
the  white  turrets  of  a  castle.  Mr.  Occom,  though  less 
athletic  than  most  of  his  companions,  was  the  first  to  lay 
his  hand  upon  the  stone  door  of  the  recluse,  inquiring  in  a 
gentle  voice,  "  Maurice,  may  your  friends  come  in  to 
you  ?" 

Precautions  had  been  necessary  at  entering  the  cavern 
when  the  door  was  closed,  as  it  usually  irritated  the  aus 
tere  hermit.  Thrice  the  question  was  repeated,  and  at 
Cach  interval  the  speaker  betrayed  emotion.  Perchance 
thus  the  Median  king  trembled,  when  listening  at  the  den 
of  lions,  he  feared  that  the  prisoner  had  become  a  victim 
to  their  rage.  No  sound  was  heard,  and  the  minister, 
extending  his  hand  toward  the  closed  entrance,  said  "  who 
shall  roll  us  the  stone,  from  the  door  of  the  sepulchre  ?" 

Robert  Ashbow,  and  John  Cooper  instantly  advanced, 
and  removed  the  heavy  fragment  of  the  rock.  The  shock 
brought  a  weight  of  snow  from  the  roof  of  the  cavern. 
They  forced  their  way  through  the  low  aperture,  which 
admitted  scarcely  a  ray  of  light.  Groping  amid  the 
gloom,  they  perceived  something  like  a  low  statue  of 
stone,  with  a  hand  resting  against  the  wall.  It  was  ri 
gid,  and  motionless  as  the  rock,  upon  which  it  reclined. 
It  was  in  a  kneeling  posture.  Robert  raised  it  in  his 
arms,  and  with  the  aid  of  his  companion,  bore  it  from  its 
dismal  a*bode.  The  glassy  and  immoveable  eyes,  seemed 
to  have  started  from  their  sockets,  and  their  stony  glare 

was  awful.     The  hand,  in  its  stiffen'd  grasp,  enclosed  a 

11 


122  SKETCH    ot    U 

crucifix,  and  the  joints  of  the  bended  knees  were  firm  as 
adamant. 

"  He  has  kept  his  Lent  with  such  strictness,"  said 
John  Cooper,  "  that  the  feeble  spark  of  life  was  almost 
smothered  before  this  storm  blew  upon  it," 

"  The  dark  Angel,  who  demands  the  spirit,"  said  Ro 
bert  Ashbow,  "  saw  it  in  devotion,  as  the  altar  from 
whence  incense  rises." 

"  Happy  is  that  servant,"  replied  Mr.  Occom  *4  whom 
his  Lord  when  he  cometh,  shall  find  watching." 

Zachary,  who,  notwithstanding  his  age,  had  been  mov 
ed  by  warmth  of  heart,  to  join  the  search  for  the  desolate 
sennit,  anxiously  surveyed  the  body,  pressing  his  hand  al 
ternately  upon  the  temples  and  the  bosom.  He  then 
wrapped  it  closely  in  the  skins,  which  had  formed  its 
inferable  bed,  and  directed  it  to  be  borne  with  care  to 
'.he  nearest  habitation. 

"  Know  ye,  how  deep  is  the  dwelling  of  the  soul  ?"  lie 
exclaimed.  "  How  long  it  may  linger  within  its  dark 
house,  when  lips  of  clay  pronounce  it  gone  to  the  shade? 
of  its  fathers  ?" 

The  body  was  borne  to  the  house  of  John  Cooper,  and 
laid  upon  the  bed.  Zachary  chafed  the  temples  with 
vinegar,  immersed  the  limbs  in  cold  water  to  expel  the 
frost,  and  rubbed  them  for  a  long  time  with  an  animal  oil 
to  soften  their  rigidity  of  fibre.  At  short  intervals,  he 
endeavoured  to  pass  through  the  lips  the  decoction  of  a 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  125 

powerful  plant,  styled  in  the  nomenclature  of  the  natives, 
"life  to  the  dead." 

A  convulsive  motion  of  the  eye-lids,  and  at  length  a 
deep,  tremulous  sob  confirmed  the  hopes  of  the  aged 
warriour.  Warmth,  friction,  and  the  exhibition  of  cor 
dials  recalled  the  wandering  spirit  to  its  earthly  abode, 
just  as  the  morning  dawned.  During  the  night,  broken 
exclamations  attested  the  return  of  life,  and  his  hands 
grasped  at  something  above  his  head,  as  if  the  flitting  vi 
sions  of  a  disordered  intellect  encompassed  him. 

"  I  know  ye!"  at  length  he  uttered  in  a  hollow  voice, 
rolling  his  eyes  upward,  "  I  know  ye.  That  head  was 
cleft  many  a  year  since.  Why  have  ye  not  healed  the 
wound  ?  Ye  bid  it  gape  to  torment  me.  Those  locks 
are  bright.  Why  do  ye  shake  them  at  me  ?  They  drop 
hot  blood  upon  my  soul.  Oh  !  here  are  hundreds  of  ac 
cursed  spirits,  reeking  from  the  eternal  lake.  Avaunt ! 
T  go  not  your  way  !  Satan  I  know,  but  who  are  ye  ?" 

During  the  agonies  of  resuscitation,  his  cries  were  fre 
quent,  "  Go  your  way !  I  know  ye  !"  with  menacing  ges 
tures  of  the  hands. 

At  length,  Mr,  Occom  bending  over  him,  said  tender 
ly  "  do  you  know  me,  Maurice  ?" 

After  a  short  pause,  a  hoarse  voice  replied  "  yes,  I 
know  thee  too,  a  blind  leader  of  the  blind.  Thinkest 
thou  to  be  within  the  pale  of  salvation  ?  Thou!  an  alien 
iioin  the  holy  mother  church.  Thou !  who  leadest  thy 
.•illy  flork  among  pit-falls,  where  is  no  shelter  in  the  day 


124  SKETCH    OF    CONNECTICUT, 

of  wrath."  Soon,  he  made  an  ineffectual  effort  to  kneel, 
and  was  observed,  by  the  motion  of  his  lips,  and  occasion 
al  elevation  of  the  crucifix,  to  be  in  deep  prayer.  Af 
terwards,  he  lay  more  calmly,  as  if  in  meditation,  but 
resolutely  refused  the  cordials  which  they  presented  to 
him. 

"  No  !  No  !"  he  vociferated,  Maurice  hath  vowed,  that 
nothing  but  water  should  pass  his  polluted  lips,  until  that 
glorious  day,  when  Jesus  brake  the  strong  bars  of  the 
tomb." 

"  What  you  call  Easter  has  nearly  arrived,"  said  John 
Cooper.  "  Unless  you  take  something  to  support  your 
weakness,  you  will  never  again  rejoice  at  the  anniversa 
ry  of  the  rising  of  your  Lord." 

The  ascetic,  fixing  his  withering  eyes  on  the  speaker, 
said,  "  thou  thinkest  Maurice  such  a  blasted  tree  that  he 
cannot  compute  times,  and  seasons.  Know  I  not  that  sev 
enteen  days  of  the  period  of  humiliation  yet  remain  V 
Maurice  will  keep  his  vow.  If  he  enter  into  heaven  ere 
it  be  accomplished,  he  will  fast  and  mourn  there  until 
Lent  be  past.  He  will  not  taste  the  new  wine  of  the  king 
dom,  until  the  voices  arid  thunderings  around  the  throne 
proclaim,  Christ  is  risen,  is  risen." 

Observing  the  children  of  John  Cooper,  to  speak  in 
low  voices  of  his  recovery,  he  addressed  them  in  a  milder 
tone. 

"  To  your  young  eyes  Maurice  seems  as  the  dry  tree.. 
whose  roots  quit  the  earth,  that  its  head  may  rest  there 


FORTY    YEARS   SINCE.  125 

Yet  has  he  numbered  fewer  years  than  many,  whose  hairs 
are  not  white  like  his.  He  was  young  and  full  of  vigour, 
when  Braddock,  and  his  soldiers  strewed  the  earth,  like 
autumn  leaves.  He  saw  Washington  lay  that  proud  war- 
riour  in  his  lowly  grave — Washington,  who  was  then  pre 
paring  like  a  bold,  broad  river,  to  run  his  course  toward  a 
sea  of  glory.  Maurice  was  then  called  the  warriourKehoran. 
It  was  said  of  him,  his  eye  is  bright  in  battle,  and  his  foot 
fleet  in  the  chase,  like  the  deer  upon  the  mountain-tops. 
Kehoran  drew  his  first  breath  in  this  valley,  and  he  lov 
ed  it  when  his  heart  was  young.  He  thought  not  then, 
to  die  like  the  miserable  Maurice.  But  he  has  grown 
old  before  his  time.  Sorrow  and  penance  have  wast 
ed  his  strength.  Yet  in  his  bosom  hath  b  een  a  goad, 
sharper  than  that  of  famine.  Ask  ye,  what  bows  the 
body  sooner  than  age  ?  what  traces  deeper  furrows  on  the 
forehead  than  care  ?  what  sheds  snows  upon  the  temples, 
whiter  than  the  frost  of  grief  ?  I  tell  ye — it  \s  guilt." 

Mr.  Occom,  with  that  majesty  which  he  well  knew 
how  to  assume,  standing  near  the  bed  of  the  sufferer,  said, 

>;  Maurice  !  I  adjure  thee  by  the  living  God,  before 
whom  thou  art  about  to  appear,  and  by  thy  hope  of  heav 
en,  to  confess  the  sin  which  lieth  upon  thy  conscience, 
while  there  is  space  for  repentance." 

•  Canst  thou  absolve  me  from  my  sin  ?"  inquired  a 
deep  voice,  as  if  from  the  recesses  of  the  tomb. 

"  There  is  none,"  replied  the  Pastor,  •'  who  hath  pow 

cr  on  earth,  to  forgive  sins,  save  God  only." 
11* 


126  SKETCH   OF    CONNECTICUT, 

u  Thou  art  weak  as  thy  faith  !"  exclaimed  the  recluse 
with  scorn  upon  every  feature.  "  How  feeble  would  be 
the  penitence,  thou  shouldst  prescribe  !  As  miserable  as 
the  hope,  which  thou  canst  offer.  Holy  Mother  of  God  ! 
Would  that  Father  Paul  were  near  me.  Oh  !  that  my 
soul  may  behold  him,  where  he  standeth  amid  the  sera 
phim,  when  she  shall  have  past  the  fires  of  purgatory." 

He  lay  for  some  time  exhausted,  as  if  in  slumber,  then 
starting,  said,  "  I  know  thee  !  Thou  art  Death  !  Mau 
rice  hath  never  turned  from  thee  in  battle.  He  will  go 
with  thee.  Thou  art  sweeter  than  this  mortal  life.  Ha  ! 
whom  bringest  thou  ?  His  dark  wings  overshadow  thee, 
He  desireth  to  rend  my  soul  in  pieces  !  Is  there  none  to 
deliver  ?  I  see  a  fair  woman  !  She  stretcheth  her  hand 
to  save  me.  Take  that  hatchet  from  her  head  !  alas  !  f 
planted  it  deep  there.  She  mocks  at  me.  She  is  gone. 
I  sink  in  a  sea  of  blood." 

Again  he  became  absorbed  in  devotion,  praying  to  the 
'holy  Saints,  and  entreating  the  blessed  Virgin  to  inter 
cede  with  her  Son  in  his  behalf.  A  sun-beam  fell  through 
the  casement  upon  his  bed  *'  This,"  he  said,  more  calm 
)y,  "  is  my  last  morning  upon  the  earth.  A  hand  that  ye 
cannot  see,  beckons  me  away.  Still  it  waits  a  liiiie. 
Know  yo  wherefore  ?  That  I  may  pour  out  the  dregs  01 
my  guilt.  So  shall  the  soul  travel  lighter  upon  her  dreary 
passage.  Heard  ye  ever  the  name  of  M'Rae  ?  i'cs  ! 
11'Kae!  M'Rae!  For  years  I  have  not  cured  to  pro 
iiounce  that  name.  Even  now,  the  demons  shriek  it  in 
my  par*.  Thev  write  it  in  flame  upon  tho  wall*.  It  scorch 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE-  127 

es  my  heart.  Avaunt !  Avaunt !  I  tell  ye,  I  will  unbur 
den  my  soul,  though  ye  bid  the  heavens  cleave  above, 
and  the  earth  beneath  me" 

Pressing  his  hands  upon  his  temples,  he  remained  mo 
tionless  for  a  short  interval,  apparently  seeking  to  recover 
strength  for  some  great  effort,  and  then  proceeded. 

"  Before  the  war  between  these  colonies,  and  the  mother 
who  planted  them,  I  led  a  wandering  life,  visiting  the  tribes 
of  Indians,  who  were  scattered  throughout  the  Canada*. 
At  length,  I  became  stationary  in  one  of  the  towns  near  the 
frontier.  Here,  I  was  found  by  Father  Paul,  a  priest  of 
the  most  holy  order  of  the  Jesuits.  Moved  by  Christian 
compassion,  he  had  for  many  years  endeavoured  to  pour 
the  light  of  heavenly  truth  upon  the  benighted  natives  of 
this  country.  Such  benevolence  had  he,  that  the  soul  of 
an  Indian  was  precious  in  his  eyes,  as  that  of  a  prince 
upon  the  throne.  Grateful  for  his  instructions,  I  daily  at 
tended  the  mass.  His  eloquence  was  more  than  mortal. 
He  received  me  as  his  son  in  the  most  holy  faith.  When 
the  cloud  of  war  arose, !  wished  to  return  to  my  kindred, 
and  join  the  standard  of  my  tribe.  He  said,  "  God  com- 
mandeth  thee  to  lift  thy  sword  for  the  people,  among 
whom  thou'hast  beheld  the  light  from  heaven."  I  obeyed, 
.ind  went  forth  in  battle  for  England,  though  often  with  a 
heavy  heart.  Sometimes,  at  midnight,  stood  beside  me 
the  form  of  my  deceased  king.  Bending  his,  dark  brows, 
lie  would  upbraid  me  as  a  traitor.  Cold  dews  hung  upon 
my  forehead,  and  I  lay  trembling,  and  sleepless  til? 


J28  SKETCH   OF    CONNECTICUT, 

the  morn.  But  the  terrour  of  that  unearthly  frown  was- 
forgotten,  when  the  voice  of  Father  Paul  repeated,  "  God 
commandeth  thee."  When  Burgoyne  with  his  troops  be 
gan  to  enter  the  provinces,  I  was  placed  with  a  band  oi 
natives,  under  a  young  British  officer,  Proud  of  my 
strength  and  valour,  I  sought  the  front  of  danger,  and  his 
eye  distinguished  me.  Once,  at  the  dawn  of  day,  he 
sent  for  me  to  his  tent.  He,  whose  heart  was  a  stranger 
to  fear,  trembled  as  he  spoke — "  Maurice,  thou  hast  a 
true  heart.  I  adjure  thee  to  keep  secret  what  I  intrust  to 
thee,  and  to  lend  me  thine  aid."  I  promised  to  be  his 
friend  ;  and  often  his  tongue  fauitered  with  emotion,  as  he 
proceeded.  "  We  are  within  a  league  of  Fort  Edward, 
It  is  to  be  attacked.  The  inhabitants  have  fled, — all,  save 
one  whom  I  hold  dearer  than  life.  I  loved  her,  long  ere 
this  war  made  intercourse  with  the  Provincials,  rebellion. 
My  residence  was  near  hers,  when  the  mother-country, 
and  her  children  were  at  peace.  She  waits  me  there, 
though  all  her  household  have  departed.  Such  faith  hath 
she.  in  my  truth.  But  when  the  ravage  commences,  how 
can  I  save  her  ?  She  must  be  brought  hither,  and  the 
priest  must  unite  us,  ere  we  depart  hence.  Were  I  to  £o 
for  her,  I  should  be  condemned  as  a  traitor  to  my  king. 
Thou  mayest  go  with  safety.  I  have  chosen  ihee  for  this 
embassy,  so  dear  to  my  soul,  because  thy  heart  is  true. 
Take  with  thee  ten  associates,  whom  I  will  amply  reward. 
Lead  for  her  my  own  horse.  Give  her  this  letter,  and  she 
will  put  herself  under  thy  care.  She  hath  the  heart  of  a 


FORTY    YEARS   SINCE.  129 

lion,  theugh  the  glance  of  her  eye  is  like  that  of  the  dove. 
1  will  meet  thee  at  the  door  of  my  tent  with  a  holy  man, 
who,  in  making  us  both  one,  shall  remove  from  my  soul 
every  earthly  fear.  Have  I  said  that  her  name  is  M'Rae  ? 
And  now  wilt  thou  be  faithful  to  my  trust  ?"— I  replied, 
"  The  Holy  Mother  of  God  be  my  witness,  that  no  hand 
but  mine  shall  present  her  unto  thee." 

"  My  heart  was  proud  at  this  confidence  of  my  chief.  In 
stantly  I  prepared  to  execute  his  orders.  Ten  trusty  na 
tives  accompanied  me.  We  soon  arrived  at  the  house  of 
the  fair-one,  which  was  forsaken  by  all  but  her,  and  one 
servant  maid.  1  held  up  the  letter,  as  she  first  perceived 
us,  that  the  hand- writing  of  her  lover  might  remove  the 
dread  of  our  countenances.  Her  maiden  shrieked,  and 
fled,  when  she  saw  us  painted,  and  attired  for  war.  But 
that  beautiful  maiden,  pressing  to  her  lips  the  letter,  and 
taking  from  it  a  lock  of  his  hair  which  it  contained,  waited 
only  to  throw  on  her  veil,  and  came  forth  to  meet  us.  I 
i  ii'ted  her  upon  the  noble  steed,  which  curved  his  neck, 
and  moved  more  gently,  as  if  he  knew  that  he  bore  the 
treasure  of  his  master.  Her  long  hair,  black  as  the  raven's 
wing,  was  folded  in  braids  around  her  head  ;  and  her  full 
eye,  of  the  same  colour,  was  perpetually  looking  out  for 
the  tent  of  her  lover.  Her  lips  smiled  fearlessly  when  she 
spoke,  and  on  her  cheek  trembled  something,  like  the 
glow  of  the  morning  sky  when  it  expects  the  Sun.  I  be 
held  her,  and  exulted  in  the  joy  of  my  commander.  Half 
our  journey  was  already  achieved.  I  led  on  slowly,  Jest* 


130  SKETCH    OF    CONNECTICUT, 

weariness  should  cast  a  shade  over  the  tender,  and  beau 
tiful.  Suddenly,  issuing  from  the  woods,  a  party  of  Cana 
dian  Indians  intercepted  our  path.  They  had  learnt,  from 
the  imprudence  of  one  of  my  followers,  the  arnpJe  reward 
which  had  been  promised  for  slight  service,  and  determin 
ed  themselves  to  obtain  it.  Cutlasses  clashed,  and  blood 
flowed  upon  the  earth.  Foemen  fell,  with  their  hatchets 
each  in  the  other's  head.  All  my  party,  but  two,  were 
slain.  More  had  fallen  of  the  enemy,  yet  they  still  out 
numbered  us.  Their  chief  took  the  bridle  of  the  maiden, 
to  lead  her  away.  My  blood  boiled  that  he  should  win 
the  prize,  which  I  had  vowed  to  deliver  myself.  She  had 
fainted,  and  her  face,  like  marble,  lay  upon  the  neck  of 
the  animal  who  bore  her.  The  rage  of  hell  inspired  pie, 
I  cleft  that  beautiful  head  with  my  hatchet.  The  light 
grey  of  the  horse  was  stained  with  blood,  and  he  Red. 
affrighted,  dragging  the  body.  My  opponent  pursued  him, 
and  tore  off  the  scalp  of  the  victim,  with  its  shining  tress 
es.  I  fought  with  him  a  long,  and  furious  contest.  Mv 
blood  flowed,  but  I  snatched  the  trophy  from  his  dying 
hand,  and  turned  not  away  until  I  had  cut  him  in  pieces.  • 
I  seemed  to  accomplish  the  remainder  of  my  journey  ii< 
an  instant.  The  flames  of  passion  consumed  thought,  and 
bore  me  forward  as  on  eagle's  wings. 

k'  The  sun  arose  as  I  returned  to  the  camp.  The  morn 
ing  was  bright,  as  the  hopes  of  the  bridegroom.  I  rnef 
him,  coming  from  his  tent  with  the  priest  who  was  to 
sanction  his  vows  Ere  he  could  speak,  I  held  the  scalp 


FORTY    YEARS    SlN€fc.  131 

before  him.     He  knew  those  dark  locks,  and  fell   to  the 
earth,  as  if  in  death.     I  was  hurried  to  prison  by  enraged 
soldiers,  who  wished  to  tear  me  to  pieces  on  the  spot. 
So  blinded  had  I  been  in  the  heat  of  battle,  that  I  had  ex 
pected  my  chief  would  commend  me  for  courage,  and 
firmness  in  his  cause,  even  amid  his  disappointment.     I 
believed  that  I  had  done  my  duty  in  being  faithful  to  my 
vow,  that  no  hand  but  mine  should    bring-  the   maiden, 
whether  living  or  dead.     Thus  an  apostle  thought  he  was 
doing  God  service,    by  persecuting  and  destroying    the 
-.     But.  in  my  miserable  dungeon,  I  had  leisure   for 
reflection.     There,  I  learned  that  General  Burgoyne  had 
condemned  to  death  all  the  survivers  of  both  parties,  and 
that  our  execution  was  delayed  only  till  two  of  the  fugi 
tives  were  found,  who  had  concealed  themselves  in  the 
forests.     Two  dreary  nights  passed  over  me  in  my  loath 
some  cell.     On  the  third,  Father  Paul  stood  beside  me. 
The  terrible  deed  had  reached  him,  and  he  travelled 
over  the  space  that  divided  us,  to  visit  a  wretch  in  bonds. 
I  prostrated  myself  upon  the  earth  before  him,  and  made 
my  confession.     "  Knowest  thou,"  he  said,  "  that  the  next 
sun  will  rise  upon  thy  corpse.,  hanging  disgracefully  be 
tween  the  earth  and  heaven  ?     It  must  not  be,  that  a  son 
of  the  holy  Church,  should  thus  be  a  spectacle  for  the 
scorn  of  heretics.     She  commands  thy  rescue.      I  have 
achieved  it.     With  me  is  a  Canadian  native,  an  obstinate 
scoffer  at  the  high  mysteries  of  our  faith.     He  is  to  enter 
thy  cell,  and  assume  thy  garb.     Thou  art  to  pass  outward 


132  SKETCH   OF    CONNECTICUT, 

in  his.  His  size,  and  appearance  are  favourable  to  the 
stratagem.  The  goaler  is  bribed  to  my  interest,  and  ere 
morning  thou  mayest  be  far  from  the  steps  of  thy  pursu 
ers."  u  Life  is  sweet,"  I  answered, — ashamed  of  my  own 
weakness."  But  holy  Father,  what  service  have  I  render 
ed  this  man,  that  he  should  willingly  give  his  life  k>r 
mine  ?"  "  He  knows  nothing  of  my  purpose."  said  Fath 
er  Paul.  "  He  is  my  servant,  I  have  required  him  to  re 
main  in  this  cell,  all  night,  that  thou  mayest  go  forth  with 
me  to  perform  a  vow.  He  thinks  that,  ere  morning,  I 
shall  liberate  him.  Long  have  I  laboured  for  his  conver 
sion  in  vain.  The  Holy  Inquisition  would  condemn  him 
to  the  rack,  for  blasphemies  against  the  mass.  Merci 
fully  I  substitute  a  milder  death.  Thy  execution  is  ap 
pointed  at  the  hour,  when  the  murder  was  committed. 
At  this  early  season,  it  is  possible  that  the  deception  may 
pass  unnoticed.  1  have  given  him  a  stupifying  drug,  so 
that  he  will  be  unable  to  make  protestations  of  innocence, 
perhaps  will  be  unconscious  of  the  scene.  At  any  rate 
thou  must  escape  as  far  as  possible,  under  cover  of  the 
night.  I  shall  commence,  with  equal  speed,  a  tour  of  in 
struction  among  the  uncivilized  natives.  Turn  thy  steps 
towards  thy  kindred,  and  native  country.  And  now,"  he 
added,  with  a  deep  solemnity,  "  kneel,  and  receive  the 
doom  of  penance,  with  which  thine  absolution  is  purchas 
ed.  Throughout  this  war,  lift  thy  hand  upon  neither  side. 
Seek  out  some  lonely  cell,  and  live  like  the  imprisoned 
monk.  Every  year,  come  to  me  as  a  pilgrim,  with  thy 


toRTY    YEARS    SINCE.  133 

feet  uncovered,  and  make  thy  confession,  and  I  will  par 
don  thy  sins."  I  departed,  but  my  heart  accused  me,  for 
leaving  behind  the  unsuspicious  Canadian.  Yet  1  knew 
(hat  Father  Paul  would  command  nothing  but  what  was 
right,  and  he  was  to  me  in  the  place  of  God.  Every  au 
tumn,  when  the  harvest  moon  lifted  her  horn,  I  have  gone 
to  him  with  my  bleeding  feet,  beseeching  him  to  absolve 
me,  and  have  returned  to  my  cave  when  the  white  man 
traces  his  first  furrow  on  the  earth.  My  last  pilgrimage 
was  performed  with  difficulty.  Thorns  mangled  my  feet, 
and  the  stormy  blasts  scattered  my  few  white  hairs.  I 
arrived,  but  he  whom  I  sought  was  not  there.  Three 
days  and  nights  I  lay  upon  his  grave,  until  I  saw  high  vis 
ions,  and  heard  voices  which  I  may  not  utter.  Methought 
I  stood  in  the  midst  of  a  pale  assembly,  and  was  about 
to  speak.  Chilling  eyes  gazed  on  me,  and  I  saw  that  I 
was  surrounded  by  the  dead.  Yet  they  clamoured  with 
hollow  voices  "  he  is  one  of  us,"  and  a  fearful  tone  from 
beneath  said, — "  Come  !"  Then  I  knew  I  was  to  die.  I 
returned  to  my  cavern,  and  increased  my  penance.  With 
ered  roots,  and  water  were  my  sustenance,  and  every  hour 
in  the  day,  and  night,  I  told  my  beads.  Ah  !  little  do  ye 
know  the  torments  of  a  sinful  soul,  propitiating  its  Maker. 
I  have  prayed,  until  my  cavern  was  thick  set  with  faces, 
and  with  fiery  eyes  ;  so  that  midnight  was  light  about  me. 
Sometimes  they  have  deafened  me  with  peals  of  hellish 
laughter,  but  when  they  have  tried  to  rivet  their  burning 

12 


134  SKETCH   OF   CONNECTICUT. 


chains  upon  me,  I  have  shaken  the  crucifix  at  them  and 
conquered." 

Maurice  relapsed  into  deep  silence,  but  resolutely  re 
fused  whatever  they  held  to  his  lips.  Mr.  Occom  lifted 
his  voice  in  earnest  prayer  for  the  sinful,  and  apparently 
departing  soul.  His  auditors  pressed  near  to  him,  as  the 
flock  in  fear  or  danger  surround  their  shepherd.  During 
the  orison,  the  features  of  Maurice  were  convulsed,  and 
vehement,  but  unintelligible  exclamations  burst  from  his 
quivering  lips.  Soon  after  its  close,  he  started  up  in  the 
bed,  throwing  his  hands  into  violent  action,  as  if  contend 
ing  with  enemies  in  the  air.  His  eyes  flamed  with  rage, 
even  when  they  were  frozen  in  their  sockets  by  the  ice  of 
death.  Large  drops  started  over  his  distorted  forehead, 
but  the  horrible  convulsion  was  short.  Sinking  down,  he 
set  his  teeth  firmly,  as  if  in  mortal  combat,  and  clenching 
the  crucifix  in  his  rigid  hand— expired. 


CHAPTER  X. 


-"  the  azure  skies, 


The  cheerful  Sun,  that  thro'  Earth's  vitals  pours 
Delight,  and  health,  and  heat ; — all, — all  conspire 
To  raise,  to  sooth,  to  harmonize  the  mind, 
And  lift  on  wings  of  praise  to  the  Great  Sire 
Of  being,  and  of  beauty.'1 

Warton. 

THE  sway  of  Winter  was  now  broken.    His  "  ruffian 
winds,"  which  had  howled  and  moaned  through  the  many 

rocky  defiles  of  N -,  as  if  they  were  reverberating  in 

the  cave  of  Eolus,  subsided  into  fitful  gales,  or  sighed  in 
humid  breezes.  The  roads  were  no  longer  enlivened  by 
the  sound  of  sleigh-bells,  and  the  neighbouring  farmers 
exchanged  the  sled  which  had  long  conveyed  their  pro 
ducts  to  market,  for  the  heavy  wheePd,  and  creaking 
wain.  The  boys,  who  had  been  seen,  during  the  daily 
school-intervals,  descending  with  surprizing  velocity  the 
steep,  snowy  declivities,  or  marking  with  "  armed  heel," 
graceful  circles  upon  a  surface  of  ice,  now  resigned  the 
instruments  of  their  favourite  sports.  Those,  who  had 
been  nurtured  in  the  economical  habits  of  their  fathers, 
restored  to  the  accustomed  peg  in  the  barn,  or  tool-house, 
their  sled  and  skates,  carefully  anointed  with  oil,  as  a  pre 
servative  of  the  wood,  and  the  metal,  which  entered  into 
their  composition,  covered  with  paper,  as  an  additional 
security  against  rust.  Some  there  are.,  in  these  modern 


136  SKETCH   OF   CONNECTICUT, 

days,  who  would  sneer  at  the  plebeian  toil,  which  seeks  to 
give  a  longer  date  to  objects  of  such  trifling  value.  Yet 
those,  who  are  most  forward  to  tax  with  the  name  of  mean 
ness  that  "  saving  knowledge'*  which  they  are  too  indo 
lent  to  practise,  are  not  always  more  elevated  above  mer 
cenary  motives,  or  more  accessible  to  the  claims  of  charity. 
than  those  who,  in  a  consistent  economy,  lay  the  foundation 
of  both  justice  and  liberality. 

But  we  return,  from  this  digression,  to  our  original  plan 

of  attending  Madam  L on  an  excursion  to  the  house 

«f  her  agriculturist.  The  roads  had  not  yet  attained  that 
settled  state,  when  a  ride  may  be  considered  a  pleasure  ; 
yet  she  did  not  hesitate  whether  on  that  account  she  should 
defer  the  business  which  she  wished  to  transact.  She 
had  not  been  educated  when  it  was  a  test  of  sensibility  to 
be  alarmed  at  every  imaginary  danger,  or  a  mark  of  re 
finement  to  magnify  every  trifling  inconvenience. 

It  was  one  of  those  fine  mornings,  in  which  a.  softer  sea 
son  makes  its  first  effectual  resistance  against  the  lingering 
claims  of  winter  ;  like  a  buxom  infant  springing  from  the 
arms  of  a  wrinkled  dame,  whose  caresses  chill  it.  Still 
the  influence  of  the  Sire  of  Storms  was  perceptible.  The 
small  streams  moved  but  torpidly,  between  margins  of  ice, 
or  beneath  a  thin  veil  which  might  have  hidden  their  pro 
gress,  had  it  not  been  revealed  by  a.  cold,  subterranean 
murmuring.  Over  the  larger  rivers  small  boats  were  seen 
gliding,  while  their  cheerful  navigators  repelled  with  long 
poles  those  masses  of  ice  which  essayed  too  near  an  ap- 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  137 

proach  ;  or  supporting  themselves  on  their  slippery  sur 
face,  collected  the  drift-wood  which  adhered  to  them. 
Other  labourers  were  busily  employed  in  replacing 
bridges,  which  the  swollen  waters  had  injured  or  destroy 
ed  ;  for  seldom  did  the  spring-tide  floods  pass  N , 

but  the  faces  of  the  inhabitants  gathered  gloom  from  the 
prospect  of  an  additional  weight  of  taxation.  While  the 
solitary  amateur  admired  the  wrath  of  the  resounding 
streams,  the  richer,  and  less  romantic  burgher  would 
calculate  the  cost,  like  Marlow  in  the  well-furnished  inn, 
apprehending,  "  how  horridly  a  fine  side-board,  and  mar 
ble  chimney-piece  would  swell  the  reckoning."  But  the 
labourers,  who  had  nothing  to  pay,  and  foresaw  gain  from 
being  employed  about  broken  bridges,  and  dilapidated 
fences,  contented  themselves  with  lamenting,  in  a  less 
rueful  tone,  the  evils  of  their  almost  insular  situation.  Con 
siderable  loss  and  suffering  had  frequently  been  sustained 
in  the  southern  extreme  of  the  town,  which  occupied  the 
ground  at  the  junction  of  the  two  principal  rivers.  These 
waters,  when  swollen  by  dissolving  snows,  and  the  in 
creased  revenue  of  their  tributaries,  came  rushing  down 
with  great  power.  Inundated  streets,  merchants  lament 
ing  the  loss  of  their  goods,  and  sometimes  of  the  ware 
houses  which  contained  them,;  or  millers  gazing  with  up 
lifted  hands  after  theirfloating  fabrics,  attested  the  ravages 
of  the  triumphant  flood.  Here  and  there,  the  sharp  eaves 
of  a  fisherman's  hut,  or  the  upper  story  of  some  building 
of  larger  dimensions  wouH  rise  above  the  encompassing 


138  SKETCH    OF    CONNECTICUT, 

element ;  while  the  boats  employed  to  take  from  their 
windows  the  sick,  or  the  softer  sex,  encountered  continual 
obstacles  from  trees  partly  immersed,  and  fences  planted 
like  chevaux  defrise,  beneath  the  treacherous  waters. 

Occasionally,  a  bridge  from  some  neighbouring  town 
has  been  borne  along,  a  reluctant  visiter  :  in  one  instance 
a  structure  of  this  sort  glided  by,  displaying  in  unbroken 
majesty  a  toll-gate,  upon  whose  topmost  bar,  a  red-wing'd 
cockerel  was  perched.  Having  evinced  his  fidelity  to  his 
favourite  roost,  by  adhering  to  it  during  all  the  shocks  of 
its  midnight  disruption,  morn  beheld  the  undaunted  bird, 
clapping  his  wings  as  he  passed  the  town,  and  sending 
forth  shrill  notes  of  triumph,  from  excitement  at  his  extra 
ordinary  voyage  of  discovery. 

Once,  an  infant,  in  his  cradle-ark,  suddenly  washed  from 
the  cabin  of  his  slumbering  parents,  glided  over  the  bosom 
of  the  pitiless  surge.  He  was  rescued — not  b}r  the  daugh 
ter  of  Pharoah,  and  her  maidens,  but  by  the  father  urging 
on  his  light  boat  with  eager  strokes,  while  the  mother, 
not  standing  "  among  the  flags  by  the  river's  brink,'-  but 
wading  unconsciously  into  the  cold,  slippery  channel, 
received  with  extended  arms,  the  babe  smiling  as  he 
awoke. 

But  the  Spring,  which  we  describe,  had  witnessed  no 
uncommon  accident.  On  the  contrary,  the  breaking  up 
of  the  frosts  of  Winter  had  l^een  peculiarly  favourable. 

The  course  of  Madam  L ,  being  directed  toward  the 

west,  led  her  gradually  from  the  vicinity  of  the  larger 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  139 

rivers,  into  a  country,  beautifully  peninsulated  by  small 
winding  streamlets.  Already  the  turf,  seen  through  melt 
ing  snows,  shewed  the  first  tints  of  its  mantle  of  green, 
seeming  to  promise  early  vegetation. 

The  trees  with  their  swelling  buds  confessed  the  action 
of  genial  warmth,  and  the  squirrel  issuing  from  his  nest  at 
their  roots,  eyed  the  traveller  for  a  moment,  ere  he  com 
menced  his  half  aerial  course.  The  blue-bird  sent  forth  a- 
few  clear  notes,  as  if  to  remind  his  more  tardy  compan 
ions,  that  the  "  time  of  the  singing  of  birds  had  come." 

Madam  L was  attentive  to  every  change  of  nature. 

whose  works  she  loved.  In  her  heart  was  a  perpetual 
spring  of  cheerfulness,  which,  throwing  a  charm  over 
every  season,  rendered  her  peculiarly  susceptible  to  the 
delights  of  that  which  was  now  unfolding,  so  redolent, 
and  full  of  the  Creator's  beauty.  Her  ride,  which  ex 
tended  to  the  distance  of  about  five  miles,  and  which  it 
has  been  mentioned  was  directed  to  the  house  of  her  farm 
er,  did  not  terminate  until  the  sun  had  a  little  passed  the 
meridian.  She  had  paused  for  some  time  at  the  abode  of 
^ood  Mrs.  Rawson,  which  was  on  the  road  ;  for,  as  usual, 
r.harity  constituted  a  part  of  the  business  which  had  led 
her  from  home.  Finding  one  of  the  children  sick,  she 
had  remained  so  long  at  the  dwelling  of  poverty,  that  she 
thought  it  probable  she  might  reach  Farmer  Larkin's  at 
the  time  of  his  recess  from  labour  at  noon.  Her  equip 
age,  which  moved  rather  slowly,  was  a  chaise,  whose 
form  displayed  none  of  the  light  and  graceful  elegance  of 


140  SKETCH   OP    CONNECTICUT, 

modern  times.     Its  heavy  body  was  painted  a,dun  yellow, 
and  studded  thick  at  the  sides,  and  edges  with  brass  nails. 
This  supported  a  top,  whose   wide  and  low  dimensions 
jutted  over  in  so  portentous  a  manner,  that  had  a  person 
of  the  height  of  six  feet  essayed  to  be  benefitted  by  its 
shelter,  he  must  have  persisted  in  maintaining  that  alti 
tude, 'which  Dr.   Franklin  recommended  to   those  who 
would  enter  his  study.    Its  clumsy  footstep,  and  uncurved 
shaft  was  so  near  the  ground,  as  greatly  to  facilitate  the 
exploit  of  ascending,  and  likewise  to  diminish  the  danger 
of  a  fall,  in  case  of  accident.     This  vehicle,  which  was  oi 
venerable  antiquity,  was  the  first  of  its  kind  which  had 
been  seen  in  the  streets  of  N — .  In  those  early  days,  it  was 
viewed  as  a  lamentable  proof  of  aristocratic  pride,  par 
ticularly  as  on  the  back  might  be  traced  the  semblance  of 
a  coat  of  arms.     It  was  now  so  much  reverenced  by  its 
owner,  that  she  could  never  consent  to  subject  it  to  those 
changes  of  fashion,  which  the  taste  of  her  younger  friends 
suggested.     To  her  there  was  a  sacredness,  even  in  the 
form  of  whatever  had  administered  to  the  comfort  of  the 
departed,  and  the  beloved.     She  loved  better  to  lay  her   \ 
hand  where  theirs  had  laid,  than  to  bury  it  amid  the  gar 
niture  of  a  gorgeous  coach.     Such   also    was    the  good 
.sense  of  her  cotemporaries,  that  they  bowed  not  to  her 
with  slighter  respect,  nor  pointed  her  out  to  strangers  with 
less  enthusiasm,  because  she  declined  to  make  her  equip 
age  the  herald  of  her  wealth,  or  the  sole  interpreter  of 
her  merit.    It  was  drawn  by  a  heavy  black  steed,  who, 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  141 

some  fifteen  years  before,  had  been  in  his  prime,  and  who 
had  as  much  the  habit  of  stopping  at  the  abodes  of  pover 
ty,  as  PeveriJ's  Black  Hastings  had  of  turning  towards  the 
window  of  mourning. 

He  also  was  cherished  by  his  kind  mistress,  for  the  same 
reason  that  she  valued  the  vehicle  to  which  he  was  har 
nessed. 

"  He  is  like  me,"  she  would  sometimes  say,  "  in  hav 
ing  seen  his  best  days,  and  I  love  to  be  reminded  by  that 
faithful  animal  how  deeply  I  have  entered  the  vale  of 
years." 

Her  attachment  to  this  favoured  servant  seemed  to  be 
reciprocal  ;  for,  when  she  occasionally  visited  him  in  his 
abode,  he  would  raise  his  long  black  visage  from  the 
well-fill'd  rack,  and  greet  her  with  a  loving  sound,  the 
echo  of  the  neigh  of  his  better  years.  With  his  mane 
some  white  hairs  were  mingling,  and  the  elasticity  of  his 
youthful  step  had  changed  into  the  heavy  tramp  of  a  load 
ed  dray-horse  ;  yet  he  was  still  strong  and  sure-footed, 
and  his  clumsiness  seemed  as  much  the  result  of  full  feed 
ing,  and  want  of  exercise,  as  of  the  weight  of  age.  In 
summer,  he  was  carefully  guarded  from  the  depredations 
of  flies  by  a  net  made  of  twine,  while  one  of  bleached  cot 
ton  with  tassels  and  balls,  exquisitely  white,  overshadow 
ed  his  huge  frame,  when  he  bore  his  load  on  Sundays  to 
the  house  of  God. 

Such  was  the  steed,  and  such  the  equipage,  which  now 
ipproached  the  abode  of  Mr.  Larkin.  It  was  a  long,  low 


142  SKETCH   OF    CONNECTICUT, 

unpainted  house,  with  narrow  casements,  situated  about 
half  a  mile  from  the  main  road.  Near  it  was  a  substan 
tial  barn,  surrounded  by  a  large  yard,  where  a  number 
of  animals  assembled  exhibited  an  appearance  of  com 
fort,  which  denoted  at  once  a  kind  and  careful  master. 
Cuffee  alighting,  removed  the  bars,  which  formed,  or  rath 
er  obstructed,  the  rustic  entrance  to  the  demesne  ;  and 
then  addressed  a  few  soothing  words  to  his  horse,  who  ad 
vanced  his  head,  and  bent  down  his  quivering  ear,  as  if 
the  sounds  of  the  human  voice  were  either  comprehend 
ed,  or  beloved. 

As  Madam  L entered  she  heard,  in  the  clattering 

of  knives  and  forks,  the  reason,  why  she  was  not  as  usual 
welcomed  at  the  door.  Unwilling  to  interrupt  the  re 
fection  of  the  family,  she  took  a  seat  unobserved.  She 
found  herself  in  the  best  room  of  the  mansion,  but  to  this 
the  inhabitants  of  the  neighbouring  villages  would  assign, 
neither  the  name  of  "  parlour,  hall,  or  drawing-room,'5 
avoiding  the  example  of  their  city  acquaintance,  as  the 
ancient  reformers  did  the  abominations  of  the  Church  of 
Rome.  Adhering  to  their  habits  of  precision  as  tenacious 
ly  a?  to  their  ideas  of  simplicity,  they  gave  to  this  most 
honourable  room  an  appellation  derived  from  its  bearing 
upon  the  cardinal  points.  The  one  under  present  consider 
ation,  being  visited  by  the  latest  beams  of  the  setting  sun, 
and  the  first  breathings  ef  the  summer  breeze,  was  de 
nominated  the  "  south-west  room."  As  the  furniture  of 
this  best  apartment  of  Farmer  Larkin  may  serve  as  a 


FORTY   YEARS    SINCE.  143 

sample  of  the  interiour  of  most  of  the  Sanctum  Sancto 
rums  of  the  better  sort  of  agriculturists  at  that  early  pe 
riod,  it  may  be  well  to" add  a  brief  description. 

The  bed,  an  indispensable  appendage,  was  without  ei 
ther  curtains,  or  high  posts,  and  decorated  with  a  new 
woollen  coverlet,  where  the  colour  of  red  gorgeously  pre 
dominated  over  the  white  and  green,  with  which  it  was 
intermingled.  So  small  a  space  did  it  occupy,  that  if, 
like  Og,  king  of  Bashan,  whose  gigantic  height  was  pre 
dicated  from  his  bedstead  of  nine  cubits,  the  size  of  our 
farmers  should  have  been  estimated  by  the  dimensions  of 
their  places  of  repose,  posterity  would  do  them  immense 
injustice. 

A  buffet,  or  corner-cupboard  was  a  conspicuous  article, 
in  which  were  arranged  a  set  of  bright,  pewter  plates, 
some  red  and  white  cups  and  saucers,  not  much  larger 
than  what  now  belong  to  a  doll's  equipage,  and  a  pyramidal 
block-tin  tea-pot.  The  lower  compartment  of  this  repos 
itory,  which  was  protected  by  a  door,  furnished  a  recep 
tacle  for  the  Sabbath-day  hats  and  bonnets  of  the  children, 
each  occupying  its  own  place  upon  the  shelves.  In  the 
vicinity  was  what  was  denominated  "  a  chist  o'  draws," 
namely,  a  capacious  vault  of  stained  pine,  which,  opening 
like  a  chest,  contained  the  better  part  of  the  wardrobe  of 
the  master  and  mistress  of  the  family  ;  while,  beneath, 
space  was  left  for  two  or  three  drawers,  devoted  to  the 
accommodation  of  the  elder  children.  But  the  master 
piece  of  finery  was  a  tea-table,  which,  elevating  its  round 


J44  SKETCH   OF   CONNECTICUT, 

disk  perpendicularly,  evinced  that  it  was  more  for  show 
than  use. 

Its  surface  displayed  a  commendable  lustre,  protected 
by  a  penal  statute  from  the  fingers  of  the  children.  But 
an  unruly  kitten  used  to  take  delight  in  viewing,  on  the 
lower  extremity  of  that  polished  orb,  a  reflection  of  her 
own  round  face,  and  formidable  whiskers.  Unhappily  mis 
taking  the  appearance  of  these  for  an  adversary,  she  im 
printed  thereon  the  marks  of  her  claws,  too  deeply  for  all 
the  efforts  of  the  good  housewife  to  efface,  and  soon  after 
expiated  her  crime  upon  the  scaffold.  A  looking-glass, 
much  smaller  than  the  broad  expansion  of  the  Farmer's 
face,  hung  against  the  roughly  plastered,  yet  unsullied 
wall.  A  few  high,  strait-back'd  chairs,  and  a  pair  of 
small  andirons  nicely  black'd,  whose  heads  bore  a  rude 
resemblance  to  the  "  human  form  divine,"  completed  the 
inventory  of  goods  and  chattels.  Over  the  low,  wide  fire 
place,  hung  in  a  black  frame,  without  the  superfluity  of 
a  glass,  the  family  record,  legibly  penned,  with  a  space 
very  considerately  left  for  future  additions.  The  apart 
ment  had  an  air  of  neatness,  beyond  what  was  then  gener 
ally  observed  in  the  houses  of  those  who  made  the  dairy, 
and  spinning-wheel,  their  prime  objects  of  attention. 
The  white  floor  was  carefully  sanded,  and  at  each  door  a 
broad  mat,  made  of  the  husks  of  the  Indian  corn,  claim 
ed  tribute  from  the  feet  of  those  who  entered.  Where 
Madam  L was  seated,  she  had  a  full  view  of  the  fam 
ily,  surrounding  their  peaceful  board,  and  so  cordially  en- 


FORTY   YEARS   SINCE.  146 

gaged  in  doing  justice  to  its  viands,  that  not  a  glance 
wandered  to  the  spot  which  she  occupied. 

The  table,  covered  with  a  coarse  white  cloth,  bore  at 
the  head  a  large  supply  of  boiled  beef,  and  pork,  served 
up  in  a  huge  dish  of  glazed  ware,  of  a  form  between 
platter  and  bowl,  though  it  probably  would  rank  with  the 
latter  genus.  A  mass  of  very  fine  cabbage  appeared  in 
the  same  reservoir?  like  a  broad,  emerald  islet,  flanked 
with  parsnips  and  turnips,  the  favourite  "  long  and  short 
saace"  of  the  day.  At  the  bottom  of  the  board  was  an 
enormous  pudding  of  Indian  meal,  supported  by  its  legit 
imate  concomitants,  a  plate  of  butter,  and  jug  of  molas 
ses.  Four  brown  mugs  of  cider,  divided  into  equal 
compartments  the  quadrangle  of  the  board,  and  the  wood 
en  trenchers,  which  each  one  manfully  maintained,  were 
perfectly  clean  and  comfortable. 

Farmer  Larkin,  and  his  wife,  not  deeming  it  a  point  of 
etiquette  to  separate  as  far  as  the  limits  of  the  table  would 
permit,  shared  together  the  post  of  honour  by  the  dish  of 
meat.  At  the  left  hand  of  the  father,  sat  his  youngest  son, 
and  at  tl^e  right  hand  of  the  mother,  her  youngest  daugh 
ter.  Thus  the  male  line,  beginning  at  Jehu,  and  touching 
every  one  according  to  his  age,  passed  over  the  heads  of 
Timothy  and  Jehoiakim,  ending  in  Amariah,  the  nephew, 
and  would-be  Methodist.  On  the  other  hand,  the  female 
line,  from  the  mother,  who  held  in  her  lap  the  chubbed 
Tryphosa,  passed  with  geometrical  precision  through  the 
spaces  allotted  to  Tryphena,  Keziah,  Roxey  and  Reuey, 

13 


146  aJLKTCH   OF   CONNECTICUT, 

terminating  with  buxom  Molly.  She  was  indeed  a  damsel 
of  formidable  size,  but  of  just  proportions,  and  employ 
ed  her  brawny  arm,  in  cutting  slices  from  a  large  loaf  o* 
brown  bread,  which  she  distributed  with  great  exactness 
by  each  trencher,  as  soon  as  her  father  had  stocked  it  with 
meat,  and  her  mother  garnished  it  with  vegetables.  There 
was  something  pleasing  in  the  sight  of  so  many  healthy 
and  cheerful  faces,  and  in  the  domestic  order  which  evi 
dently  prevailed.  The  first  course  past  in  silence,  except 
that  Farmer  Larkin  said  to  his  wife, — 

"  Do  pray,  Mammy,  put  down  Tryphosa  on  the  floor, 
and  give  her  a  crust  o'  bread  to  gnaw.  1  can't  bear  to 
see  ye  always  a  carryin'  some  burden  or  other,  so  that  ye 
get  no  rest  even  at  meal  times." 

The  wife  obediently  placed  the  plump  infant  in  a  hum 
bler  station,  who  lifted  up  its  broad  blue  eyes,  as  if  it 
thought  itself  aggrieved,  until  the  father  reaching  it  a  piece 
of  bread,  said, — "  there,  baby,  larn  to  take  care  o'  your 
self." 

It  soon  became  so  much  absorbed  with  its  tVagment  of 
the  staff  of  life,  as  to  make  no  overtures  to  return  to  the 
arms  of  it  mother.  In  a  short  time,  each  trencher,  neatly 
scraped.,  was  presented  to  Molly  for  a  slice  of  the  pudding 
in  her  vicinity,  to  which  Amariah  carefully  added  the  us 
ual  condiments.  When  Tim's  plate,  in  due  rotation,  was 
replenished,  the  farmer  said, — 

"  Amariah,  that  boy  did  not  do  his  ta-a-sk  this  mornin'. 
Don't  ye  put  any  lasses  on  his  puddin'.  Lazy  folk? 


FORTY    YEARS   SINCE.  147 

sha-ant  fare  so  well  as  others  in  my  house.    That's  right 
*n't  it  Tim,  to  larn  ye  to  be  industrious  ?" 

'  Yes  Father,"  said  the  boy,  eating  his  dry  pudding 
without  complaint,  and  with  the  air  of  one  who  intended 
to  profit  by  the  justice  which  he  acknowledged.  The  meal 
was  accompanied  by  a  few  questions  from  the  parents,  to 
which  the  younger  members  returned  brief  answers  ;  but 
refrained  from  holding  light  conversation  among  them- 
« elves,  with  far  greater  sense  of  propriety,  than  is  always 
witnessed  at  the  tables  of  the  professedly  polite.  At  the 
close  of  the  repast,  the  Father,  bowing  his  head,  uttered 
brief  but  hearty  thanks  to  the  Giver  of  all  Mercies,  during 
which  even  the  youngest  children  stood  as  if  in  an  act  of 
devotion.  They  had  been  taught  that  the  food  of  each 
day,  however  homely,  was  a  favour ;  that  it  was  both  a 
duty  and  pleasure  to  thank  Him  who  bestowed  it ;  and 
r.hat  it  was  sinful  to  do  this  with  a  light,  irreverent  deport 

ment.     Madam  L- ,  touched  at  this  scene  of  domestic 

order,  harmony  and  devotion,  thought  that  the  careless, 
the  proud,  or  the  epicure,  who  would  scorn  these  humble 
inmates,  might  still  receive  from  them  a  salutary  lesson. 
Perchance,  in  her  mind  was  a  train  of  thought,  similar  to 
what  inspired  the  ploughman-poet,  when  he  exclaimed— 
*;  From  scenes  like  these,  old  Scotia's  grandeur  springs. 

Which  makes  her  lov'd  at  home,  revcr'd  abroad — 
Princes  ami  lords  are  hut  the  breath  of  kings, 

.'in  honest  man's  the  noblest  work  of  Goef." 

As  she  came  forward  from  the  apartment,  where  she  had 
comained  unobserved,  she  was   received  with  the  most 


148  SKETCH   OP    CONNECTICUT, 

cordial  delight  by  every  individual.  The  good  Farmer 
approached  with  a  fervent  welcome  tempered  with  re 
spect,  and  the  matron  with  an  apology  for  not  having  met 
her  at  the  door,  little  imagining  that  she  had  so  long  been 
their  guest.  Bows  and  court'sies  multiplied  among  the 
junior  class,  as  they  were  kindly  addressed  by  the  Lady. 
Molly  produced  with  great  rapidity  a  plate  of  nut-cakes 
and  cheese,  a  basket  of  fine  apples,  and  a  glass  of  metheg- 
lin.  Roxey  and  Pteuey  ran  to  add  a  "  saacer  of  presarved 
barberries,"  from  the  jar,  which  was  filled  with  fruit 
gathered  and  prepared  by  their  own  hands,  for  a  dessert 
on  extraordinary  occasions.  Jehoiakim  also  hastened  to 
convey  refreshments  to  Cuffee,  who  in  tarn  presented  him 
with  some  grafts  from  the  Vergaloue,  the  Bennet,  and  the 
Winter  Pear,  eulogizing  their  respective  merits  ;  and  not 
forgetting  to  add,  that  his  Mistress  had  "  eight  bery  large 
fine  tree,  most  hundred  year  old." 

Mrs.  Larkin,  after  the  lady  had  concluded  her  business 
with  her  husband,  was  anxious  to  shew  her  dairy,  where 
the  large  cheeses,  turned  and  rubbed  daily  by  her  own 
bands,  and  the  stores  of  gold-coloured  butter,  arranged 
with  perfect  neatness,  attested  her  industry,  and  good 

housewifery.     Madam  L took  pleasure  in  conversing 

with  this  worthy  family,  where  each  fulfilled  their  part, 
with  such  faithfulness,  and  harmony.  She  distributed  to 
each  of  the  children  some  little  present  adapted  to  their 
age.  To  the  older  ones  she  gave  books,  after  questioning 
them  en  the  contents  of  those  which  she  bad  last  present- 


JtORTY    YEARS    SIM.  i  14B 

ed,  and  expressing  satisfaction  that  they  had  been  pre 
served  with  so  much  attention.  To  Amariah  she  gave  a 
New  Testament,  saying  with  kindness,  that  she  had 
marked  with  a  pencil  some  passages  which  she  thought 
applicable  to  him,  and  doubted  not  that  he  would  per 
ceive  that  religion  was  confined  to  no  particular  sect,  but 
was  valued  in  the  eye  of  the  Almighty  according  to  its 
effects  upon  the  heart  and  life.  Amid  expressions  of 
sincere  gratitude  and  affection  from  all,  she  took  her 
,  leave,  with  more  heartfelt  satisfaction  than  is  found  among 
the  courtly  pomp  of  a  ceremonious  party  ; 

"  Where  e'en  while  Fashion's  brightest  arts  decoy, 
The  heart,  distrusting  asks,  if  this  be  joy.'-' 

Such;  forty  years  since,  were  most  of  the  agriculturists, 
who  tenanted  the  lands  of  others  in  the  villages  of  Con 
necticut.  Uncorrupt  integrity,  and  reverence  for  religion 

• 

were  their  distinguishing  characteristics  ;  and  their  fami 
lies  were  nurtured  in  that  industry,  and  subordination, 
which  are  the  germs  of  the  strength  and  peace  of  commu 
nities.  By  no  profession  might  that  beautiful  passage  01 
inspiration  be  with  more  justice  assumed  as  a  motto,  "  in 

simplicity,  and  godly  sincerity  we  have  our  conversation 

i 
in  the  world." 

Since  that  period,  those  luxuries  and  refinements,  which 
.-spread  so  rapidly  in  our  cities,  have  pervaded,  in  some 
degree,  the  abodes  of  the  tillers  of  the  earth.  They  are 
becoming  a  more  enlightened  race  than  their  fathers,  and 
from  their  habitations  have  issued  some  of  our  most  di«- 
13* 


150  SKETCH   OF   CONNECTICUT, 

tinguished  merchants,  statesmen  and  divines.  Their  sons 
have  been  distinguished  in  our  seminaries  of  science,  for 
the  zeal  with  which  they  have  pursued  knowledge,  and 
the  indefatigable  application  with  which  they  have  suppli 
ed  the  defects  of  early  culture.  When  the  sons  of  rich  men. 
languid  from  indulgence,  have  shrunk  from  mental  effort 
as  insupportable  hardship,  and  fallen  a  prey  to  those  vices 
which  indolence  creates,  the  offspring  of  those  who  hold 
the  plough  have  wrested  from  their  feeble  hands  the  prize 
of  honour,  and  pressed  on  in  the  path  of  their  country's 
praise  and  pride.  There  is,  in  the  pursuits  of  agriculture, 
a  salutary  discipline  both  for  the  body  and  mind,  as  they 
are  gradually  developed.  That  hardihood  of  frame,  which 
despises  privation,  or  change  of  elementss  is  more  conge 
nial  to  elevation  of  character,  than  the  enervating  nurture 
of  patrician  families,  where  animal  tastes  are  pampered, 
at  the  expense  of  vigour  of  intellect,  and  ease  of  body 
promoted,  even  to  the  bondage  of  the  free  spirit.  Possi 
bly  also,  in  the  simplicity  of  man's  primeval -occupation, 
there  may  be,  like  the  angels  hovering  over  Eden,  natural 
and  invisible  guards  around  the  avenues  of  innocence, 
cheerfulness,  and  that  religion  which  springs  from  a  view 
«f  the  Creator  in  his  works, 

Agriculture  has  been,  in  the  New-England  States,  a 
source  of  wealth,  less  splendid  indeed  than  some  others, 
but  far  less  fluctuating.  It  has  been  a  fountain,  not  always 
as  profuse  in  its  streams  as  avarice  or  ambition  might,  de 
sire,  but  perermiajl  when  sought  by  industry  and  prrr 


FORTY    YEARS   SINCE,  151 

tience.  How  frequently  does  it  happen,  in  our  republican 
government,  that  a  fortune,  acquired  by  the  economical 
agriculturist  furnishes  the  means  of  vanity  and  pride  to 
his  son  ;  who,  removing  to  the  city,  and  educating  his 
children  in  indolence,  prepares  them  to  squander  the  in 
heritance  of  their  ancestors.  The  next  generation,  born 
in  poverty,  seek  an  antidote  in  labour,  and  find  that  "  tide 
in  the  affairs  of  men,  which  taken  at  the  flood  leads  on  to 
fortune." 

Many  such  instances  had  fallen  under  the  observation 

of  Madam  L ,  and  her  silent  reflections  upon  them 

were  not  interrupted,  until  her  approach  to  the  Turnpike, 
a  few  miles  from  her  residence.  There  she  saw  an  un 
usual  bustle,  and  heard  the  tones  of  the  red-faced  gate 
keeper,  elevated  like  the  hoarse  croak  of  a  raven.  But 
these  were  overpowered  by  the  loud  brogue  of  an  Irish 
man  of  enormous  stature,  who  mounted  on  a  pony  ready 
to  sink  beneath  the  weight  of  the  rider,  contested  the  rate 
of  toll  :— 

"  I  tell  ye,  I'll  not  be  paying  nine-pence  for  travel 
ling  on  such  a  confounded  bogrof  a  road,  with  the  danger 
of  breaking  my  neck  into  the  bargain." 

;<  Zounds  !'*  roared  the  sturdy,  square  shouldered  Eng 
lishman,  lifting  up  his  shoemaker's  hammer,  by  the  aid  of 
which,  with  the  profits  of  his  gate,  he  earned  a  subsistence 
for  his  family,  "  are  ye  not  able  to  read  the  printed  board 
before  your  face,  or  d'ye  think  ye're  in  Cork,  where  club 
law  will  silence  the  jailors," 


152  oKETCH   Of   CONNECTICUT, 

"  Of  what  use,  my  dair,"  said  Paddy  without  regard 
ing  the  threat,  "  of  what  use  is  that  sort  of  a  whirligig 
thing,  which  bears  some  indifferent  likeness  to  the  cross  of 
St.  Patrick  ?" 

"  It  is  the  wicket,  where  people  on  foot  go  through  for 
nothing,"  replied  the  toll-keeper,  approaching  to  shut  the 
gate,  which,  not  apprehending  any  contention,  he  had 
thrown  open  at  the  arrival  of  the  passenger.  But  Paddy, 
dismounting  with  as  much  haste,  as  Lord  Marmion  dis 
played  in  clearing  the  falling  portcullis  of  the  indignant 
Earl  of  Douglas,  threw  his  arms  round  his  shadow  of  a 
steed,  and  lifted  him  fairly  over  the  debateable  ground. 
Then  turning  about,  he  walked  through  the  wicket,  and 
resuming  his  seat  upon  the  wretched  animal,  shouted  to 
the  amazed  toll -keeper, — 

"  If  a  man  may  walk  through  your  limboes  by  himself, 
without  any  burden  at  all,  for  nothing,  my  jewel,  should 
not  he  be  desarving  of  some  pay,  when  he  carries  a 
baste  upon  his  shoulders  ?  And  so,  ye're  so  covetous  in 
this  beggarly  country,  as  never  to  be  giving  so  much  as 
.1  drop  of  drink  to  a  friend,  who  has  left  the  swatest  isl 
and  in  the  world,  just  to  be  travelling  through  this  wilder 
ness  among  thieves,  and  lubberly  pickpockets." 

Without  waiting  to  hear  the  torrent  of  recrimination, 
which  burst  from  the  lips  of  the  baffled  toll-gatherer,  he 
pursued  his  journey,  with  a  peal  of  laughter,  which  echo 
ed  from  the  surrounding  rocks  and  woods,  as  if  a  colony 
*f  Hibernians  were  mocking  from  beneath  their  canopy. 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  163 

Madam  L readied  the  gate,  at  the  moment  when  its 

enraged  superintendant  was  preparing  for  pursuit.  His 
square,  thick  figure,  bustling  about  with  uncommon  agil 
ity,  had  a  comic  appearance,  while  on  his  brow  was  some- 
nhat  of  that  eager  impatience,  with  which  he  of  Bosworth 
field  exclaimed,  "  My  kingdom  for  a  horse."  The  Lady 
suddenly  changed  the  fierce  expression  of  his  counten 
ance,  by  putting  into  his  hand,  with  her  own  toll,  the  sum 
for  which  his  recreant  brother  of  Erin  was  indebted  ;  and 
kindly  wishing  him  a  good  afternoon,  departed  with  a 
smile  of  that  conciliating  spirit,  which  prompted  the  pa 
triarch's  exhortation  to  his  kinsman,  "  let  there  be  no 
strife,  I  pray  thee,  between  me  and  thee,  and  my  herds 
men  and  thy  herdsmen,  for  we  be  brethren." 


CHAPTER  XL 

"  Gently  oa  him  had  gentle  Nature  laid 

The  weight  of  years  : — all  passions  that  disturo 

Were  past  away." 

Maduc . 

THE  wandering  natives,  in  their  visits  to  N ,  ever 

sound  a  kind  reception  at  the  mansion  of  Madam  L . 

.They  were  accustomed  to  point  it  out  at  a  distance,  as  the 
weary  traveller  recognizes  the  house  of  refreshment,  and 
repose.  Here  they  knew  that  their  wants  would  be  re 
lieved,  and  their  simple  industry  promoted.  It  might  be 
said  that  they  were  encouraged  here  to  hold  an  annual 
convention.  A  custom  was  established  by  our  pious  an 
cestors,  immediately  after  the  settlement  of  New-England, 
of  setting  apart  a  day  in  Autumn,  for  publick  and  private 
gratitude  to  the  Giver  of  all  good.  This,  which  might 
originally  have  been  intended  as  an  imitation  of  the  Israel- 
itish  festival  of  in-gathering,  had  been  gradually  lowered, 
by  the  interpretations  of  their  descendants,  from  a  day  of 
sacred  gratitude,  to  one  of  good  eating  and  drinking.  Still 
there  were  connected  with  it  many  cheerful,  and  interest 
ing  associations  ;  the  return  of  absent  children,  the  union 
of  dispersed  families  around  the  domestick  altar,  and  the 
offering  of  praise,  by  the  ministers  of  religion,  to  the  Fa 
ther  of  all.  This  was  a  season,  when  anciently  the  rich 
remembered  the  poor,  and  sent  portions  from  their  own 


!56  SKETCH    OF    CONNECTICUT, 

tables  to  the  needy.  It  was  the  practice  in  the  house 
hold  of  Madam  L to  make  a  large  quantity  of  pastry, 

expressly  for  the  natives  of  Mohegan.  This  secured  an 
almost  universal  attendance  of  the  females,  who  holding 
a  neat  basket  of  their  own  manufacture,  would  thankfully 
receive  in  it  the  luxury  for  their  expectant  families.  It 

was  pleasant  to  Madam  L to  see  their  dark  red  brows 

beam  with  gentle  feelings,  arid  to  hear  them  speaking  in 
the  softest  tones,  their  native  language  to  the  little  ones 
who  accompanied  them.  She  knew  each  by  name,  and 
they  would  gaze  upon  her,  with  the  most  reverent,  and 
trusting  affection,  when  she  addressed  them.  This  peo 
ple  are  reserved  on  the  subject  of  their  necessities.  They 
view  the  wealth  of  the  whites,  without  envy,  or  desire  of 
personal  appropriation.  If  they  have  been  denominated 
the  "  nation  of  poverty,"  they  could  never  have  beec 
justly  styled  a  nation  of  beggars.  Their  little  store  they 
freely  impart  to  the  wants  of  another,  and  cultivate  hospi 
tality  as  faithfully  as  they  cherish  gratitude.  By  that 
sympathy  with  which  a  benevolent  female  enters  into  the 
hearts  of  her  own  sex,  Madam  L— —  became  so  well  ac 
quainted  with  the  respective  characters  of  her  pensioners, 
as  to  adapt  judiciously  to  each  the  presents  of  clothing, 
or  other  useful  articles,  which  at  this  season  she  prepared 
for  them.  They  possessed  so  humble  a  spirit  of  gratitude 
for  the  gifts  bestowed,  that  none  was  disposed  to  cavil  if 
the  portion  of  her  neighbour  seemed  more  valuable  ;  or  to 
doubt  the  wisdom  of  the  giver,  in  doing  "  what  she  would 


FORTY   YEARS   SINCE.  157 

with  her  own."  Each  rejoiced  in  her  individual  share  of 
bounty,  and  in  that  which  was  allotted  to  others  ;  and 
venerated,  as  a  benefactress,  her  who  regarded  with  inter 
est  an  outcast,  and  perishing  race. 

One  morning,  Mr.  Occom,  and  Robert  Ashbow  were 
announced,  the  minister,  and  chieftain  of  the  tribe.  After 
a  little  conversation,  the  former  said — 

"  I  come,  Madam,  to  take  leave  of  you,  and'in  the 
name  of  my  nation,  who  depart  with  me,  to  give  you 
thanks  for  your  continued  kindness.  A  large  part  of  them 
have  consented  to  accompany  me  to  a  tract  of  land,  given 
them  by  their  brethren  of  the  Oneida  tribe,  on  the  condi 
tion  of  their  removing  thither,  and  cultivating  it." 

"  Is  there  not  already  land  enough  in  their  possession, 
in  this  vicinity,"  said  the  Lady,  "for  their  subsistence, 
if  they. would  attend  to  its  culture  ?" 

"  Alas  !  Madam,"  he  replied,  "  my  brethren  are  de 
generate  plants.  They  are  but  shadows  of  their  ancestors. 
I  wish  to  associate  their  broken  spirits  with  others  less 
degraded.  Peradventure  the  Almighty,  upon  this  hum 
ble  foundation,  may  yet  build  a  temple  to  his  praise." 

4<  Do  you  accompany  these  emigrants  ?"  inquired  the 
Lady  of  the  Chief.  His  melancholy  brow  seemed  to 
gather  darkness,  as  he  answered  haughtily — 

"Ask  the  mother,  if  she  forsakes  the  cradle  of  her  son, 

because  disease  hath  wasted  him  ?    Does  the  bear  scorn 

to  defend  her  cub,  because  the  arrow  of  the  hunter  hath 

wounded  it  ?    Does   the   bird  hate  her   nest,   while  her 

14 


158  SKETCH   OF    CONNECTICUT, 

offspring  are  unfledg'd,  and  helpless  ?  And  should  not  man 
be  more  merciful  than  the  beasts  of  the  field,  and  wiser 
than  the  fowls  of  heaven  ?" 

"  You  are  not  willing  then,"  she  replied,  "  that  your 
tribe  should  separate  from  the  home  of  th'eir  Fathers." 

"Lady!"  said  the  chieftain  sternly,  "  that  man  hath 
stood  before  me,  day  after  day,  urging,  like  the  prophet 
of  Israel,  let  this  people  go.  Like  him  of  Egypt  with  the 
harden'd  heart,  I  long  answered,  i  will  not  let  them  go, 
But  a  decree  was  made  plain  to  my  soul.  The  terrible 
blackness  of  prophecy  unfolded  itself.  I  saw  written,  the 
dispersion  of  all  our  race.  I  was  dumb.  I  opened  not  my 
mouth  for  many  days.  Then  in  my  bitterness  I  said — let 
Ihem  go  forth  !  Such  as  are  for  the  sword,  to  the  sword  : 
;*nd  such  as  are  for  the  famine,  to  the  famine  ;  or  to  the 
pestilence  ;  or  to  the  wild  beast  of  the  forest.  Each,  hi,- 
own  way  to  the  grave — let  him  go !" 

There  was  a  pause  of  some  emotion,  and  the  Chief 
.idded  mournfully — 

*'  Long  ere  our  doom  was  revealed  to  us,  it  began  to  be 
;,ccomplished.  Where  are  the  Pequots,  once  numerous 
as  th«  stars,  whose  strong  holds  ruled  the  waves  of  the 
sea-coast  ?  Where  are  the  Narragansetts,  the  natural 
enemies  of  our  tribe  ?  They  vanished  before  our  nation, 
as  we  now  sink  beneath  yours.  All  are  gone.  All — save 
a  little  chaff  for  the  winds  to  sweep  away.  I  would  have 
prevented  this  division  of  my  perishing  people.  I  would 
have  lifted  my  voice  against  it.  The  words  of  their  Chief 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  169 

should  have  prevailed  over  those  of  the  man  of  God.  But 
I  saw  that  Fate  had  determined  evil  against  us.  The 
shades  of  our  fallen  kings  uttered  it  in  my  ears.  In  the 
darkness  of  night- visions,  their  voice  hath  entered  my 
soul.  I  heard  it,  as  if  winds  murmured  from  some  hollow 
cave — "  Our  people  are  water  scattered  upon  the  ground. 
None  shall  gather  it." 

There  was  an  interval  of  silence,  and  then  the  Lady 
expressed,  to  the  unhappy  Chief,  her  good  will  for  his 
.people.  Not  heeding  the  remark,  he  continued  in  the 
same  voice,  as  if  pursuing  an  unbroken  current  of  thought — 

"  Who  shall  break  the  chain  that  binds  our  race  to  de 
struction  ?  Once,  it  might  have  been  cut  by  the  sword. 
But  where  now  is  the  arm  of  the  warriour  ?  Strength  hath 
perished  from  among  the  people.  The  avenging  spirit 
hath  lifted  his  hand  against  us.  Who  can  stay  it  ?  What 
matters  it,  where  he  shall  overtake  us,  whether  upon 
the  mountain  tops,  or  in  the  wilderness,  or  the  forest, 
where  no  ray  hath  penetrated  ?  Wherever  we  flee,  he  will 
follow,  and  fulfill  the  curse.  Therefore  have  I  consent 
ed  to  let  my  people  go,  whom  else  I  would  have  com 
manded  to  shed  the  last  drop  of  their  blood  on  the  tombs 
of  their  fathers.  But  for  me,  though  I«  should  be  left 
alone,  as  a  blasted  tree  upon  the  desolate  rock,  yet  will  I 
stay,  and  pour  my  last  breath  where  the  death-sigh  of 
my  kings  arose." 

"  It  would  seem  at  first  view,"   said  Mr.  Occom.  "  as 
it'  the  sentence  of  extinction  were  indeed  passing  upon 


160  SKETCH    OF    CONNECTICUT, 

our  race,  as  that  of  dispersio  n  was  executed  upon  the  pe* 
euliar  people.  Yet  we  hope  in  the  mercy  of  Him,  who 
"  hateth  nothing  that  he  has  made."  We  pray  that  his 
goodness  may  yet  be  manifested  in  the  calling  of  us,  Gen 
tiles.  We  trust,  Madam,  that  your  favoured  race,  who 
are  exalting  the  country  to  a  glory  which  under  us  it  could 
neyer  Vve  known,  will  yet  impress  with  civilization  and 
Christianity,  the  features  of  our  roving  and  degraded  char 
acter.  Then  At  will  be  but  a  small  matter  to  have  yield 
ed  to  you  these  perishable  possessions,  if  through  you, 
we  become  heirs  to  the  kingdom  01  heaven." 

"  Why  are  those,"  said  the  Chief,  "  who  expect  an  in 
heritance  in  the  skies,  so  ready  to  quarrel  about  the  earth, 
their  mother  ?  Why  are  Christians  so  eager  to  wrest 
from  others  lands,  when  they  profess  that  it  is  gain  for 
them  to  leave  all,  and  die  ?  Ah  !  what  hath  been  the  sin 
of  our  nation,  above  that  of  all  other  nations,  that  our 
name  must  be  blotted  from  among  the  living  ?  For  what, 
crime  is  our  heritage  taken  away,  and  given  to  another 
people  ?  On  the  land  which  our  fathers  gave  us,  we  may 
not  set  our  feet,  except  as  strangers.  Like  shadows  we 
flee  away  to  our  sepulchres.  Even  these  are  no  longer 
ours.  Monuments  of  those  whom  our  fathers  knew  not, 
are  there,  and  the  dust  of  the  Indian  is  scattered  by  the 
winds.  Ere  long,  white  men  will  cease  to  crush  us,  for 
we  will  cease  to  be." 

"  Chief  of  the  Mohegans  !"  said  the  Pastor  "  all  men 
all  nations  of  men,  have  sinned.     In  this   world  retribu 


FORTY    YEARS   SINCE.  161 

tien  is  not  perfect.  It  becomes  not  us  to  contend  with  Him, 
who  deaJeth  more  lightly  with  us  than  our  iniquities  de 
serve.  Saith  not  that  holy  book,  whose  words  thy  strong 
memory  so  well  cherisheth.  "  wherefore  should  a  living 
man  complain,  a  man  for  the  punishment  of  his  sins  ?" 

"  Did  all  our  kings,  and  chiefs,"  he  inquired  "  offend 
fhe  God  of  Christians  ?  Why  does  he  thus  draw  out  his 
-anger  to  the  latest  generations  ?  Are  we  sinners  above  all 
men,  that  we  are  made  as  driven  stubble  before  our  ene 
mies  ?" 

"  My  brother  speaks  like  a  native,"  said  the  minister 
addressing  the  Lady.  iv  Oh  !  that  he  may  yet  say  as  a 
Christian,  though  clouds  and  darkness  are  round  about 
Jehovah,  justice  and  judgment  are  the  foundations  of  his 
throne/' 

-God  forbid!"  said  the  Chief,  "  that  Robert  should 
blame  the  religion  of  Christians.  Shall  the  snow-wreath 
lift  itself  against  the  sun-beam?  But  that  religion  is  for 
white  men.  The  God,  who  ordained  it,  is  angry  at  the 
red  man  of  the  forest.  He  will  frown  upon  him  until  he 
•  lie.  Let  him  pray  then  to  that  Great  Spirit  who  watched 
over  his  fathers,  whether  his  throne  be  amid  the  roll  of 
mighty  waters,  or  where  the  tempest  folds  its  wings. 
The  white  man  may  seek  the  God  who  loveth  him,  who 
hath  given  him  a  book  from  heavfen,  and  continually  call- 
eth  to  the  torn  that  he  will  heal,  to  the  smitten  that  he 
will  bind  him  up.  But  where  shall  the  poor  Indian  turn 
in  his  sorrow,  but  to  that  spirit  of  mystery,  which  hath  led 
14* 


162  SKETCH    OF    CONNECTICUT, 

him  on  through  darkness,  all  his  life  long  ?  lie  was  hun 
gry,  and  his  bow  satisfied  him.  Thirsty,  and  drank  of 
the  brook.  He  dies,  and  will  He,  who  nourished  his  body, 
slay  his  soul  ?  Can  the  spirit,  which  He  breathed  into 
clay,  perish  like  the  gale  which  sighs  once,  arid  is  not  ? 
Doth  not  the  smoke  ascend,  and  the  cinders  go  downward 
to  the  earth,  when  the  fuel  that  fed  the  flame  is  consum 
ed  ?" 

"  Connect  your  natural  religion,  with  that  which  is  re* 
vealed  from  above,"  said  the  Pastor.  "  Whether  you 
call  Him  who  ruleth  over  all,  the  Great  Spirit,  or  Jeho 
vah,  strive  to  enter  into  his  Heaven,  To  whom  do  the 
promises  of  the  gospel  address  themselves  with  more  force, 
than  to  a  race  like  ours,  homeless  and  despised  ?" 

"  I  know  that  the  shades  of  my  fathers  live,"  he  repli 
ed,  "  but  not  in  the  white  man's  Heaven.  On  earth  they 
lived  not  as  brothers,  though  ye  say  that  one  Father 
created  them.  Ye  say  that  in  your  Heaven,  they  c<  go 
no  more  out.  But  the  spirit  of  the  red  man  must  wan 
der  ;  as  on  earth,  so  in  heaven.  If  it  might- not  rove,  i; 
would  faint  amid  the  islands  of  bliss.  Your  holy  book  ; 
tells  of  the  great  city  in  Heaven,  the  New-Jerusalem. 
which  is  built  of  pure  gold.  It  is  described  with  gatev  oi 
pearl,  and  streets  of  transparent  glass.  Our  Heaven  is  not 
so.  The  poor  Indian  would  tear  to  enter  such  a  glorious 
place.  He  is  contented  to  lie  down  in  the  forest,  whose, 
lofty  columns  prop  the  blue  arch  of  the  skies,  and  to  sec 
the  moon  look  forth  in  brightness  from  her  midnight  throne. 


FORTV    YEARS  SINCE.  168 

This  is  splendour  enough  for  his  untutor'd  soul.  He  loves 
not  the  pomp  of  cities.  He  loves  better  to  stand  on  the 
cliff,  where  the  cloud  rests,  and  gaze  upon  the  troubled 
ocean,  while  the  voice  of  its  storms  dies  beneath  his  feet. 
He  loves  to  feel  himself  to  be  but  as  a  drop  in  its  bosom, 
swallowed  up  in  the  vast  and  awful  creation.  Ye  say  that 
your  Jehovah  is  a  God  of  wisdom.  Will  he  then  carry  to 
oneplace  souls,  which  like  contending  elements,  can  have 
no  communion  ?  Would  he  kindle  war  in  Heaven  if  he  be 
^  a  Spirit  of  love?" 

Mr.  Occom,  raised  his  eyes  upwards,  as  if  they  uttered 
*'  Thy  light  alone,  is  able  to  dissolve  this  darkness  !"  Pre 
paring  to  depart,  he  approached  the  Lady,  and  said, — 

"  I  could  not  leave  this  part  of  the  country,  Madam, 
without  saying  to  you,  that  your  bounty,  and  that  of  your 
deceased  partner  can  never  be  forgotten,  either  by  the  na 
tives  who  go,  or  by  those  who  remain  behind.  In  their 
prayers,  they  will  commend  you  to  that  God  whom  in 
truth  you  worship.  My  people  were  hungry,  and  you 
have  given  them  bread.  Naked,  and  you  clothed  them. 
Sick,  and  you  visited  them.  Lady  !  I  seek  not  to  praise 
man,  but  God,  who  hath  breathed  goodness  into  his  heart. 
Yet  there  is  written  a  book  of  remembrance,  and  the  right 
eous  need  not  shrink  from  it  in  the  day  of  scrutiny,  for 
the  traces  of  errour,  over  which  Repentance  weeps,  shall 
be  blotted  out  in  the  blcod  of  Calvary.  Farewell,  blessed 
Lady  !  When,  before  the  throne  of  mercy,  you  remember 
the  sorrowful,  let  the  outcast  Indian  share  in  your  peti 
tions." 


164  SKETCH    OF  CONNECTICUT, 

The  sorrow-stricken  Chief  drew  near,  and  bowed  with 
the  deepest  reverence  upon  the  hand  which  was  extended 
to  him. 

"  Think  not  that  Robert  condemneth  all  thy  race.  Out 
of  the  bitterness  of  a  heavy  heart  hath  he  spoken.  Yet 
he  can  see  the  dew-drop  sparkling  in  its  pureness,  amid 
the  darkest  path.  He  can  distinguish  the  "  herb  of  life," 
though  the  venomous  vine  overshadow  it.  He  can  love 
those,  who  shall  hereafter  be  angels,  though  he  come  not 
himself  into  their  holy  place."' 

Soon  after  the  departure  of  these  visitants,  Dr.  L 

entered,  and  said, — 

"  The  affliction,  which  our  Church  expected,  has  arriv 
ed.  Her  venerable  pastor,  Dr.  L***  is  dead.  The  "  ides 
of  March"  1784,  will  long  be  remembered  in  her  annals 
as  a  time  of  mourning." 

"  I  have  frequently  thought,"  she  replied,  "  that,  if 
anniversaries  of  both  our  sorrows  and  our  joys  were 
faithfully  kept,  the  dealings  of  the  Almighty  would  be 
more  deeply  impressed  on  the  heart,  for  its  "'instruction 
in  righteousness."  A  tablet  of  individual,  domestick,  and  | 
social  vicissitudes,  would  serve  as  a  monument  to  recall 
the  past,  and  as  a  way-mark  to  direct  the  future.  The 
record  of  our  adversities  is  not  easily  forgotten  ;  but,  when 
the  Sun  of  Mercy  beams  upon  us,  we  do  not  always,  like 
the  Israelites,  set  up  a  stone  of  remembrance,  and  say 
"  hitherto  hath  the  Lord  helped  us."  Our  beloved  minis 
ter  has  departed,  full  of  days,  and  full  of  honour.  Four 


FORTV    YEARS   SINCE.  166 

score  and  ten  years  were  appointed  him,  yet  but  a  short 
iime  has  elapsed,  since  he  spoke  to  us  from  the  pulpit. 
The  tones  of  his  voice  were  dear  to  me,  and  his  counten 
ance  ever  restored  the  memory  of  scenes  of  happiness,  in 
which  his  friendship  had  participated,  or  of  affliction,  in 
which  his  piety  had  administered  consolation." 

'*  How  majestic  was  his  presence,"  he  answered, 
'  when  he  enforced  the  obligations  of  conscience,  and  the 
terrours  of  the  law.  He  spoke  with  a  power  that  forced 
•the  guilty  to  tremble.  With  what  an  overflowing  fullness 
would  his  mind  illustrate  points,  which  the  thoughtless  had 
deemed  of  minor  importance  ?  In  prayer  his  solemnity 
was  so  striking,  that  I  think  none  could  listen  to  him, 
without  revering  that  devotion  by  which  he  was  inspir 
ed." 

"'  I  have  been  peculiarly  impressed  with  this,  my  broth 
er,  during  the  exciting  events  of  our  recent  war.  In  his 
humility  for  our  occasional  defeat,  his  gratitude  for  deliv 
erances,  his  thanksgiving  at  the  result,  he  seemed  to  pour 
out  his  whole  soul,  in  all  that  variety  of  sacred  language, 
with  which  the  prophets  recite  the  battles  of  the  hosts  of 
Israel.  Yet  there  were  some  who  were  fatigued  with  the 
length  of  his  orisons,  and  others  who  objected  to  the  nar 
rations  which  they  contained.  The  nurse  of  my  niece, 
who  was  a  member  of  the  Church  of  England,  remarked 
that  his  prayers  seemed  principally  intended,  to  "  convey 
information  to  the  Lord." 

•'  Were  Gabriel  on  earth,"  he  replied,  "  there  would 


166  SKETCH    OF    CONNECTICUT, 

undoubtedly  be  some  to  object  to  the  strain  of  his  devo 
tion.  I  have  heard  our  departed  minister  censured  for 
credulity,  because  in  one  or  two  instances,  he  gave  thanks 
for  victory,  which  afterwards  proved  a  defeat.  But,  amid 
the  variety  of  rumours  which,  during  our  long  war,  often 
deceived  professed  politicians,  how  could  he  be  expected 
always  to  discern  between  correct  and  false  information  ; 
he,  whose  integrity  of  soul  would  render  him  one  of  the 
last  to  suspect  others.  I  have  recently  heard,  also,  some 
uneasiness  expressed  at  the  length  of  his  sermons.  It 
seems  that  some  of  our  audience  have  tutored  their  minds 
to  perform  so  skilfully  the  office  of  an  hour-glass,  that  they 
can  ascertain  the  moment,  when  the  speaker  passes  the 
limit  of  sixty  minutes.  All  beyond  is  to  them  weariness 
and  vanity.  They  are  not  indifferent  to  any  other  species 
of  gain  ;  but  "  goodly  pearls  without  price"  are  scorned 
if  they  are  presented  in  large  numbers,  or  in  a  capacious 
casket.  Yet  these  cavillers  are  principally  among  the 
younger  part  of  our  auditors,  who  have  not  yet  attained 
the  piety  of  their  fathers.  They  feel  the  winter's  cold, 
or  the  summer's  heat,  more  sensibly  than  the  peril  of  their 
souls.  If  the  stoves  and  the  furs  of  Russia  could  be  intro 
duced  into  our  places  of  worship,  changing  an  inclement 
season  into  the  softness  of  Spring,  I  fear  that  even  then 
they  would  scarcely  listen,  without  murmuring,  to  a  dis 
course  of  an  hour  and  a  half  in  length.  Ah  I  I  fear  that 
days  are  coming,  when  sound  doctrine  must  be  stinted, 
both  in  weight  and  measure  ;  and  when  it  will  be  thought 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  167 

necessary,  so  to  refine  and  gild  truth,  as  to  destroy  its 
specific  nature.  So  that  there  may  }ret  be  a  time,  when 
the  spirit  of  the  gospel  will  be  held  secondary  to  the 
vehicle  in  which  it  is  presented,  and  men  will  hear  ser 
mons,  not  for  the  purpose  of  laying  conscience  open  to 
their  pnwer,  but  to  employ  the  mind  in  criticism  upon 
their  construction.  Our  aged  Pastor  might  have  had  the 
satisfaction  of  reflecting,  that  he  never  curtailed  the  copi 
ousness  of  his  theme.,  or  allayed  its  pungency,  for  the  ac 
commodation  of  "ears  polite." 

"  To  me,*'  she  replied  "  his  performances  were  ever 
consistent  with  each  other,  and  with  the  holy  dignity  of 
one  appointed  to  lead  "  the  sacramental  host  of  God's 
elect."  And  it  has  given  me  great  pleasure,  in  my  visits 
to  him  during  his  decline,  to  perceive,  that  his  strenuous- 
ness  about  particular  doctrines  had  become  absorbed  in 
the  sublimity  of  the  great  plan  of. salvation.  While  we 
are  ascending  the  hill  of  life,  little  obstructions  or  aids  seem 
of  great  importance  ;  but  when  we  reach  the  summit,  if 
the  Sun  of  Glory  beam  there,  the  whole  journey  appears 
but  as  one  path  of  light.  His  happy  spirit  wondered 
where  were  the  obstacles  that  had  impeded  its  course. 
They  vanished,  when  it  sat  so  peacefully  on  the  threshold 
of  the  gate  of  Heaven." 

'  This  I  have  also  observed,  my  sister,  in  recent  con 
versation  with  him.  Undoubtedly,  many  of  those  opin 
ions,  which  we  now  defend  with  asperity,  will  appear 
divested  of  importance,  when  the  light  of  .another  world 


168  SKETCH    OF    CONNECTICUT, 

shines  upon  them.  Our  clergyman  seemed  to  gather  gen 
tleness  and  charity,  while  he  went  downward  to  the  grave, 
as  the  sun  sheds  a  more  serene  lustre,  when  "  he  trem 
bles  at  the  gates  of  the  west."  I  witnessed  an  affecting 
occurrence  of  this  nature,  in  the  chamber  of  his  sickness. 
The  Divine  of  a  neighbouring  township  differed  from  him. 
in  ihe  interpretation  of  a  particular  doctrine,  and  a  dis_ 
pute  on  this  point  had  been  conducted  with  considerable 
acrimony.  Like  the  strife  between  Paul  and  Barnabas,  it 
caused  a  suspension  of  their  accustomed  intercourse.  For 
many  years,  their  friendly  exchange  of  pulpits  had  ceas 
ed.  A  meeting  between  them  was  effected,  by  Mr.  S , 

the  young  colleague,  and  successor  of  our  departed  guide. 
They  pressed  each  other's  hands,  and  tears  fell  down  like 
rain.  "Brother  !"  said  the  dying  clergyman,  raising  him 
self  on  his  couch,  "underneath  thee  be  the  everlasting 
arms.  One  thing  is  needful.  I  trust  that  we  both  have 
faith  in  our  Redeemer,  and  shall  dwell  together  eternally, 
where  one  spirit  of  love  pervadeth  all."  Those  who  know 
with  what  tenacity  learned  men  of  ardent  temperament 
adhere  to  their  favourite  theories,  will  fully  estimate  the 
extent  of  this  sacrifice." 

"  It  does  more  honour  to  his  piety,''  she  answered, 
-<  than  all  the  books  of  controversy,  which  he  could  have 
written.  To  contend,  is  the  dictate  of  our  nature  ;  io 
desist  from  strife,  the  victory  of  a  divine  motive.  This 
reconciliation  must  have  been  highly  satisfactory  to  the 
benevolent  fedings  of  our  young  minister.  His  filial 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  169 

deportment  toward  this  patriarch  in  the  Church,  and  the 
solemnity  with  which  he  administers  the  appointed  ordi 
nances,  reflect  honour  upon  the  religion  which  he  professes. 
In  prayer,  he  condenses,  as  it  were,  the  spirit  of  devotion, 
and  gives  it  force  even  among  the  inattentive.  I  have 
seldom  heard  any  thing  more  pathetic  than  his  perform 
ances  in  the  house  which  Death  has  entered,  where  there 
is  such  an  expressive  adaptation  of  manner,  countenance, 
and  supplication,  to  the  sorrows  of  the  mourner,  and  the 
jesires  of  the  penitent  heart." 

s<  These  excellencies,"  said  Dr.  L ,  "  he  possesses 

in  an  eminent  degree  ;  and  his  union,  with  one  of  our  most 
ancient  and  respectable  families,  affords  reason  to  hope 
that  he  will  continue  with  us.  In  length  of  days,  and  in 
exemplary  piety,  may  he  equal  his  revered  predecessor, 
that  "  mighty  man  so  eloquent  in  the  Scriptures."  To 
us,  who  are  going  down  into  the  dust,  many  would  deem  it 
of  little  importance,  who  shall  stand  as  a  watchman  upoa 
the  walls  of  Zion.  Yet  it  ought  never  to  be  a  matter  or 
indifference,  who  shall  be  the  spiritual  guide  of  our  chil 
dren.  Those,  who  desire  religion  to  be  honoured  when 
they  are  no  more,  should  not  only  teach  their  descendant*? 
Jo  obey  its  precepts,  but  to  revere  its  minister*. 


15 


CHAPTER  XII. 

•*4  Disperse  !  Disperse  !    The  gathering  boats  I  view. 

Sad  parting  friends  around  the  waters  stray, 
Yet  shall  dark  Fate  their  distant  steps  pursue  ; 
Alike  with  those  who  go,  and  those  who  stay, 

The  withering  curse  shall  stalk,  companion  of  their  way.'- 

ON  the  ensuing  Sunday,  Mr.  Occom  gave  his  farewell 
discourse  to  the  separating  tribe.  It  was  founded  on 
that  part  of  Scripture,  which  describes  the  division  of  land 
among  the  people  brought  out  of  Egypt,  and  the  depar 
ture  of  the  half  tribe  of  Manasseh,  to  a  distant  inheritance 
with  the  Reubenites,  and  Gadites — "Now  to  one-half  of 
this  tribe,  Moses  had  given  possession  in  Bashan  :  but 
unto  the  other  half  thereof,  gave  Joshua  a  possession, 
among  their  brethren  on  the  other  side  of  Jordon  west 
ward."  The  object  of  his  address  was  to  calm  the  cur 
rent  of  perturbed  feelings,  to  strengthen  the  ground  of 
conh'dence  in  Him  who  "  who  appointeth  the  bounds  of 
man's  habitation,"  and  to  enforce  the  motives  of  faithful 
obedience  to  his  commands.  The  following  clay,  all  Mo- 
hegan  were  assembled  upon  the  banks  of  the  river.  There 
lay  the  boats,  prepared  to  convey  to  their  distant  abode 
the  emigrants,  whose  number  was  about  two  hundred' 
There  were  sorrowful  countenances,  and  solemn  partings, 
and  mutual  good  wishes,  and  blessings.  Amid  the  throng, 
the  lofty  figure  of  the  young,  warriour  Ontologon  was  seen-. 


l'7  SKETCH    OF    CONNECTICUT, 

bending  in  deep  conversation  with  a  maiden.  They  lov 
ed  each  other,  and  she  would  have  joined  his  enterprize, 
but  the  sickness  of  an  infirm  mother  incited  duty  to  c<5r>- 
quer  love. 

"  Would  to  God,  that  I  might  lead  thee  by  the  hand  to 
my  boat,"  said  the  dark  eyed  youth.  "  I  would  throw 
over  thee  an  awning  of  the  deer-skin,  and  neither  wind 
or  rain  should  visit  thee.  Our  voyage  should  be  prosper 
ous,  because  thou  wert  with  me,  and  in  storms  the  Great 
Spirit  would  have  mercy  upon  me  for  thy  sake.  I  would 
build  thee  a  cabin  in  our  new  country,  and  thou  shouldest 
be  all  the  world  to  me." 

41  Ontologon,"  said  the  maiden,  "'  thou  art  young,  and 
thy  arm  is  strong.     Thou  art  sufficient  to  thine  own  sub 
sistence,  thine  own  joys.     My  mother  languishes,  and  is 
sick— who  shall  feed  her  ?  If  1  depart  with  thee,  who  shall 
comfort  her  ?  Hath  she  any  other  child,  to  make  the  corn 
grow  around  her  habitation,  or  to  seek  in  the  woods  those 
roots   which  ease   her   pains  ?    Her  groans  would  raise 
from   ns   sepulchre  the   spirit  of  my   father,     ft  would 
curse  ihe  daughter  who  could  forsake,  for  her  own  pleas-  \ 
ures,  the  cry  of  misery  in  that  home,  where  her  own  infant 
cries  were  soothed.  It  would  frown  on  her  who  could  bid 
to  make  her  own  grave  that  mother  whose  breast  had  giv 
en  her  nourishment.     That  frown  would  wither  my  soul, 
even  while  thy  love   cherished  it.     Tempt  me  no  more 
Ontologon.    The  sound  of  thy  voice  is  sweeter  to  my  ear* 
than  the  song  of  the  bird  making  its  first  nest  in  the  spring- 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCK.  173 

My  eyes  pour  forth  water  at  thy  words,  but  my  heart  is 
fixed" 

"  I  will  not  leave  thee,  Zenelasie,  said  the  lover.  My 
boat  shall  pursue  the  fish  into  the  deepest  waters,  and  my 
arrow  bring  the  birds  from  the  highest  boughs  for  thee. 
Thou  shalt  watch  by  the  couch  of  thy  mother  ;  but  let 
me  be  thy  husband,  Zenelasie,  and  sustain  the  heart  that 
pours  life  into  hers." 

tc  Thou  hast  given  thy  word  to  the  chiefs  and  war- 
.riours,"  she  answered.  "  Make  not  thyself  false  for  n 
woman.  I  will  not  see  the  finger  pointed  at  thee,  ami 
hear  the  brave  say,  Ontologon  hath  no  soul.  Thou  would^ 
soon  be  as  the  chained  lion,  for  love  i.s  a  fleeting  flame. 
Oh  !  son  of  Lodonto.  It  falls  like  a  band  of  snow  from  the 
breast  of  the  warriour.  The  heart  has  other  voices,  than 
those  which  it  utters  in  the  spring,  in  the  bloom  of  flow 
ers.  Be  wise,  and  it  shall  breathe  music,  when  the  frost- 
of  winter  shall  come,  and  the  flowers  are  faded.  Go  then 
where  are  wider  waters,  and  hibger  mountains  than  the.se. 
The  eye  of  the  pale  race  blasts  our  glory.  We  fleet  be 
fore  them,  as  the  brook  vanishes  in  the  summer.  Go 
then  to  the  country,  where  are  none  but  red  men,  and 
let  thy  name  be  among  their  bravest." 

The  dark  brow'd  youth  replied,  "  Ah  !    whither  shall 
we  go,  and  not  hear  the  speech  of  the  white  man  ?  If  we 
hide  in  the    thickest  forest,  he  is   there,  and  the  loftiest 
trees  fall  before  him.     If  we  dive  beneath  the  darkest 
waters,  his  ships  «over  them,  ere  we  can  rise  again.    We 


174  SKETCH    OF    CONNECTieUT, 

cannot  fly  so  swiftly  that  he  overtakes  us  not ;  so  far,  but 
he  is  there  before  us.  He  speaks,  and  our  wigwarns  van 
ish,  and  his  cities  spring  up,  like  the  mushroom,  in  one 
night.  It  is  written  upon  the  earth,  and  in  the  sky,  that. 
the  Indians  must  perish,  and  the^  white  man  blot  out 
his  name.  Yet  fear  not  that  the  sou)  of  Ontologon  shall 
bow.  No  !  he  will  go  to  another  land  where  the  ancient 
spirit  of  his  race  hath  yet  a  little  resting-place,  "  like  8 
wayfaring  man,  who  tarrieth  for  a  night."  When  it  slum 
bers,  he  will  awake  it  ;  when  it  departs,  he  will  follow  ii 
If  it  die,  he  will  die  also,  and  there  shall  his  grave  be 
Ontologon  will  be  first  among  the  hunters,  and  captain 
among  the  brave.  He  will  gain  a  name  for  thy  sake,  and 
when  thy  mother  sleeps  where  is  no  waking,  he  will  re 
turn  and  claim  thee.'' 

"Go  then  warriour  !"  said  the  maiden,  throwing  off  the 
melancholy  that  had  marked  her  tone.  Go,  bold  son  of 
Lodonto,  whose  arm  was  mighty  in  battle.  Yet  speak 
not  of  the  death  of  her  who  bore  me.  I  will  guard  her 
as  the  apple  of  my  eye.  Whoknoweth  but  she  may  yet 
rise  up  from  her  sorrows,  as  the  drooping  willowrises  after 
the  storm  ?  Who  knows  but  she  may  yet  lay  her  head  on 
my  grave  and  mourn.  A  little  while,  and  I  shall  no  long 
er  see  thy  noble  form,  towering  above  the  loftiest.  I  will 
watch  thee,  as  thy  oars  bear  thee  from  our  shore.  When 
thy  boat  is  as  a  speck,  I  shall  know  it,  from  those  which 
surround  it.  When  it  loses  itself  in  darkness,  I  will  lay 
my  face  in  the.dust,  and  weep.  But  what  are  the  tea r? 


FORTY    YEARS   SINCE.  175 

of  a  woman.  Regard  them  not,  O  son  of  Lodonto!  Think 
of  the  fame  of  our  fathers,  ere  the  glory  departed  from 
them.  When  the  Sun  sinks  to  his  rest,  or  rising  reddens 
the  hill-tops,  and  I  speak  to  Him  whom  the  eye  seeth  not, 
thy  name,  Ontologon,  will  bejSrsf, — last  in  my  prayer.  I 
would  not  that  thou  shouldst  know  all  the  weakness  of  my 
heart.  Be  thou  strong  in  the  day  of  evil,  and  the  Great 
Spirit  give  thee  a  name  among  thy  race." 

Scarcely  had  she  finished  speaking,  when  the  Pastor  of 
the  tribe,  having  ended  his  private  farewells,  and  bene 
dictions,  advanced  to  the  centre  of  the  circle.  His  head 
was  uncovered^  and  traces  of  emotion  were  visible  on  his 
brow.  Waving  his  hand  the  throng  separated,  those  who 
were  to  depart,  from  those  who  were  to  remain.  There 
was  a  brief  and  heavy  silence,  during  which  he  past  his 
hand  over  his  eyes.  Then,  gathering  firmness  as  he  pro 
ceeded,  he  spoke  with  the  tenderness  of  a  father,  who 
sees  the  children,  whom  he  has  reared,  departing  from 
i he  paternal  abode  ;  yet  with  the  solemnity  of  a  spiritual 
teacher,  who  desires  above  all  things,  the  edification  of  his 
flock. 

"  Think  ye  not,  as  ye  thus  divide,  neighbour  from  neigh 
bour,  arid  friend  from  friend,  and  parent  from  child — think 
ye  not  of  that  eternal  separation  at  the  last  day,  where  OR 
one  side  shall  be  anthems  of  joy,  on  the  other  wailing  and 
gnashing  of  teeth  ?  And  what  hand  shall  then  remove  you 
one  from  another,  as  "a  shepherd  divideth  the  sheep 
from  the  goats  ?"  What  hand,  but  that  which  was  pierced 


176  SKETCH    OF    CONNECTICUT. 

for  you,  which  is  still  stretched  out  to  draw  every  soul  ot 
you  within  the  Ark  of  the  Covenant  ?  See  that  ye  refuse 
not  Him  who  speaketh  from  Heaven  ;  for  there  renoaineth 
no  other  sacrifice  for  sin.  Hoary  heads  arise  here  and 
there  among  you.  Fathers  !  God  only  knovveth  whether 
I  shall  see  your  faces  again  on  earth,  {  charge  ye  by  the 
fear  of  Jehovah,  by  the  love  of  Christ,  by  the  consolations 
of  the  Holy  Spirit,  that  ye  look  upon  my  face  with  joy, 
when  this  earth,  and  these  heavens  shall  vanish  like  a 
scroll.  Here  also  stand  those,  whom  age  has  noi  bowed 
down — the  youth  in  his  strength — and  the  babe  of  a  fen- 
summers.  Remember  that  Death  hath  set  his  seal  upon 
you  also.  He  forge tteth  none  born  of  woman.  Many 
herbs  are  cut  down  or  wither  in  their  greenness.  Few  are 
brought  to  the  harvest,  fully  ripe.  See  that  none  of  you 
disobey  Him,  whose  anger  ye  cannot  bear.  If  you  hear 
my  voice  no  more  upon  earth,  remember,  whenever  you 
stand  upon  this  rivers  brink,  that  I  warned  you  with  tears 
to  make  your  Judge  j^our  friend.  See  that  net  one  of  you, 
';  drink  the  wine  of  the  wrath  of  God,  which  is  poured 
out  without  mixture,"  where  is  no  hope." 

Kneeling  upon  the  young  turf,  he  commended  them  in 
fervent  supplication,  to  the  keeping  of  an  Almighty  Pro 
tector  ;  and  rising,  gave  his  paternal  benediction  lo  all. 
Laying  his  hand  upon  the  head  of  John  Cooper,  whom  he 
desired  should  be  a  shepherd  to  his  flock,  until  his  next  vis 
itation,  he  said,  'k  receive  him!  he  hath  corrupted  no  man,  he 
hath  defraudedno  man." — "The  blessing  of  the  Almighty 


FORTY    YEARS   SINCE.  177 

be  upon  thee,"  replied  the  pious  husbandman.  "  May  his 
dews  refresh  the  new  branch  of  thy  planting,  and  his  sun 
beams  remember  the   broken  tree  thou  leavest   behind 
thee.     Saith  not  his  holy  word  "  that  there  is  hope  of  a 
tree,  if  it  be  cut  down  that  it  will  sprout  again,  and  that 
the  tender  branch  thereof  will  notecase?"     Thus  may  it- 
be  with  our  people — with  our  Church.     Though  the  root 
thereof  wax  old  in  the  earth,  and  the  stock  thereof  die  in 
the  ground,  yet  through  the  scent  of  water  may  it  bud, 
and   bring   forth  boughs  as  a  plant."    Amen  !  said  their 
Pastor,  and  bowing  himself  to  the  people,  turned  his  steps 
down  ward  to  the  water.  This  was  understood  as  the  signal 
for  departure,  and  every  emigrant  entered  his  boat.    It 
had  been  concerted  that  a  parting  hymn  should  be  sung, 
expressive  of  their  sympathies  and  devout  hopes.  It  rose 
in  deep  and  solemn  melody   from  the   waters,  while   the 
measured  stroke  of  the  oar  gave  it  energy,  as  it  softened 
in  distance.     From  the   shore   the  response  swelled  fit 
fully,  and  in  its  cadence  were  heard  the  voices  of  those 
that  wept.     It  was  like  the  music  on  the  coast  of  Labra 
dor,  where,  amid  the  coid  blasts,   the  poor  Esquimaux 
raises  his  anthem,  at  the  departure  of  their  yearly  mis 
sion  ship,  which  brings  relief  to  his  poverty,  and  sheds 
light  on  his  darkness.    It  was  like  the  music  of  the  Jews, 
at  the  foundation  of  their  second  temple,  where  the  sound 
of  cymbal  and  trumpet,  could  not  be  distinguished  from 
"  the  noise  of  the  weeping"  of  those  who  remembered 
tfve  glory  of  their^rs^  holy  and  beautiful  house.   At  length 


178  SKETCH   OF   CONNECTICUT, 

all  was  silent.  The  echo  died  upon  the  waters,  and  the 
sob  upon  the  shore.  Each  might  be  seen,  slowly  taking 
his  way  to  his  respective  abode,  yet  often  lingering  to  try 
if,  amid  the  diminishing  throng,  the  brother  could  dis 
tinguish  the  boat  of  his  brother,  or  the  father  that  of  his 
son.  Last  of  all  Zenelasie  was  seen,  wrapping  her  head 
in  her  mantle,  and  flying  like  a  young  roe  to  the  habitation 
of  her  mother. 

But  long  after  her  departure,  the  form  of  Robert,  the 
mournful  Chief,  was  discovered  slowly  pacing  the  bank 
of  the  river.  He  had  spoken  a  few  words,  with  animat 
ed  gesture  to  the  remainder  of  his  tribe,  ere  they  dispers 
ed,  and  had  then  sought  to  conceal  himself  from  them. 
His  pride  would  not  permit  his  heart  to  unburthen  itself 
in  their  presence,  or  to  reveal  to  his  inferiours  how  deeply 
it  was  pierced.  He  wandered  silently  onward,  his  head 
declined  upon  his  breast,  until  he  reached  the  solitary 
recess,  which  still  bears  the  name  of  "  the  chair  of  Uncas." 
It  is  a  rude  seat,  formed  by  Nature  in  the  rock,  and  so  en 
compassed  with  masses  of  the  same  material,  and  embo 
somed  in  the  thicket,  as  to  be  almost  impervious  to  the  eye- . 
except  from  the  water.  When,  in  the  seventeenth  centu 
tury,  the  fort  of  that  monarch  was  invested  by  the  Narra- 
gansetts,  and  his  people  perishing  with  famine,  he  took 
measures  to  inform  the  English  of  their  perilous  situation, 
and  was  found  seated  in  this  rude  recess,  anxiously  watch 
ing  the  river,  when  those  supplies  arrived  which  rescueo 
him  from  destruction.  These  were  conveyed  in  a  larg-e 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  179 

canoe  from  Say  brook,  under  cover  of  darkness,  by  an  en 
terprising  man  of  the  name  of  Leffingwell,  to  whom  Un- 
cas,  as  a  testimony  of  gratitude,  gave  a  large  tract  of  land, 

comprising   the  whole  of  the  present  town   of  N . 

There  that  king  sat,  on  the  throne  furnished  by  Nature,  with 
no  guard,  but  the  shapeless  columns  of  stone,  whose  mossy 
helmets  waved  over  him,  and  no  canopy  but  the  midnight 
cloud,  listening  with  throbbing  heart,  for  the  dash  of  that 
oar,  on  which  hung  his  only  hope.  At  a  distance  were  his 
tarnishing  people,  and  his  besieging  foes  holding  the  war- 
dance,  which  preceded  their  morning  battle,  and  their  ex 
pected  victory.  On  the  same  seat,  after  the  lapse  of  more 
than  a  hundred  years,  reclined  this  lonely  Chief  of  a  di 
minished  and  dispersed  tribe.  Behind  him  was  no  fort, 
no  warriours.  Upon  the  still  waters,  where  his  eye  rest 
ed,  was  no  hope.  The  setting  Sun  threw  his  lustre  over 
them  for  a  moment,  as  if  they  were  an  expanse  of  liquid 
silver,  and  illumined  the  bold,  broad  forehead  of  the 
Chieftain,  half-hidden  by  his  dark  clustering  locks,  over 
which  a  slight  tinge  of  snow  had  been  scattered,  not  by 
time,  but  by  sorrow.  He  watched  the  last  rays,  and  as 
they  faded  into  twilight  exclaimed  in  agony,  "  Thou 
shaft  rise  again  in  glory  ; — but  for  us  there  is  no  returning, 
— no  dawn."  He  concealed  his  brow  with  his  hands,  and 
his  bursts  of  grief  were  long,  and  passionate.  None  were 
there  to  report,  "  I  saw  my  Chief  mourning."  Day,  at 
her  return,  found  him  in  the  same  spot — in  the  same  atti 
tude,  as  when  she  sank  to  repose.  Starting,  as  her  beams 


jgQ  SKETCH  OF   CONNECTICUT. 

discovered  him,  "  through  the  misty  mountain-tops,"  he 
left  communing  with  the  shades  of  his  fathers,  and  sought 
the  remnant  of  his  people, 


CHAPTER  XIIL 

;  The  broken  soldier,  kindly  bade  to  stay, 
Sat  by  his  fire,  and  talk'd  the  night  away." 

Goldsmith* 

MADAM  L felt  a  deep  interest  in  those  soldiers  who 

had  borne  the  burdens  of  our  revolution.  It  was  one  of 
her  favourite  maxims,  that  their  services  would  be  better 
'estimated  when  the  blessings,  won  by  their  toil,  were 
more  widely  diffused,  and  more  fully  realized.  Could  she 
have  seen  through  the  vista  of  future  years,  a  band,  small, 
feeble,  and  hoary,  yet  bending  less  beneath  the  burdens 
of  age,  than  those  of  poverty,  going  forth  like  the  widow 
of  Zarepta,  to  gather  sticks  to  dress  a  handful  of  meal,  that 
they  might  eat  it  and  die  ;  she  would  scarcely  have  been 
convinced  that  these  were  the  defenders  of  her  country. 
Had  she  seen,  in  vision,  a  mother  redeemed  from  servi 
tude  by  the  blood  of  her  sons,  yet  withholding  from  their 
necessities  a  scanty  pittance,  till  by  far  the  greater  num 
ber  of  them  had  sought  refuge  where  wounds  fester  no 
more,  she  would  not  have  acknowledged  such  an  emblem 
of  the  land  that  gave  her  birth.  She  couid  not  have  been 
induced  to  believe,  that  her  dear  native  country,  like  the 
officer  of  the  Egyptian  king,  in  his  transition  from  a  prison 
to  a  place  near  the  throne,  "  remembered  not  Joseph, 
but  forgat  him," 

16 


182  SKETCH   OF  .CONNECTICUT, 

The  place  of  her  residence  had  furnished  many  of  those 
veterans  who,  during  a  war  of  eight  years,  had  rarely  tast 
ed  the  "  charities  of  home,  and  sweet  domestick  life." 
Some  had  fallen  while  the  fields  were  sown  with  blood, 
others  had  returned  to  share  the  blessings  of  their  harvest, 
A  few  survived  with  broken  frames,  and  debilitated  con 
stitutions,  living  spectacles  of  woe  to  their  disconsolate 
families.  To  these  that  charitable  Lady  extended  her 
unwearied  friendship.  Medicine  for  their  sicknesses,  food 
for  their  tables,  and  condescending  kindness  to  their 
sorrowful  spirits,  she  distributed  with  that  judgment 
which  accompanies  a  discriminating  mind. 

One  of  these  unfortunate  beings,  who  frequently  came 
to  sit  an  hour  with  her  when  she  was  at  leisure,  used  to 
style  himself  the  Captain  of  her  band  of  pensioners.  He 
was  a  man  of  powerful  frame,  strong  features,  and  ardent 
character.  His  good  right  hand  which  had  so  often  toiled 
to  procure  bread  for  the  lambs  of  his  household,  had  been 
cleft  from  his  body  by  a  sabre,  as  he  raised  it  to  ask  for 
quarter  in  an  unsuccessful  combat.  A  crutch,  which  his 
left  hand  had  painfully  wrought  out,  and  inscribed  with 
the  date  of  his  last  battle,  supplied  the  loss  of  a  limb, 
which  had  been  amputated  in  consequence  of  a  neglect 
ed  wound.  Pain,  sickness,  and  the  untold  miseries  of  a 
prison-ship,  had  destroyed  the  vigour  of  a  muscular  frame, 
and  given  the  wrinkles  of  age  to  one  who  had  not  seen 
half  a  cenlur3r. 


FORTY   YEARS  SINCE.  183 

Madam  L listened  with  interest  to  his  narratives, 

and  often  wondered  at  the  elasticity  with  which  his  spirit 
soared  above  the  ruins  of  his  frame.  One  morning  as  he 
was  seated  with  her,  his  only  hand  resting  upon  the  crutch 
that  stood  by  his  side,  he  said — 

"  I  should  take  more  pleasure  in  coming  to  this  house, 
Madam,  if  I  could  but  forget  that  the  traitor  Arnold  used 
to  reside  in  it.  I  don't  like  to  sit  in  seats,  where  he  sat.'* 

"  I  am  sorry,  Anderson,"  replied  the  Lady,  "  that  any 
uch  image  should  interfere  with  the  comfort  of  your  vis 
its.  I  have  no  particular  satisfaction  in  retracing  the  con 
nection  of  Benedict  with  our  family.  He  was  received 
by  my  husband,  more  from  the  solicitations  of  a  widowed 
mother,  than  from  any  prepossessing  traits  of  character. 
He  evinced,  at  the  age  of  twelve,  those  qualities  which 
distinguished  his  manhood.  He  possessed  a  courage,  and 
contempt  of  hardship,  which  would  have  been  interesting, 
had  they  not  been  associated  with  dispositions  delighting 
to  inflict  pain.  His  intellect  was  rapid  and  powerful,  but 
he  was  impatient  of  controul,  arid  devoid  of  integrity." 

"  I  remember  him,"  said  the  soldier,  "  in  his  boyish- 
days.  He  loved  to  cut  young  birds  to  pieces,  and  to 
laugh  at  the  mourning  of  their  parents,  and  to  torture  eve 
ry  thing  that  was  weaker  than  himself.  There  is  nothing 
that  I  check  my  boys  sooner  for  than  cruelty  to  animals.  It 
will  make  you  like  Arnold,  I  say  to  them,  and  no  traitor 
shall  be  son  of  mine.  I  once  met  him  when  a  boy  at  the 
mill,  where  we  both  came  with  corn.  He  quarrelled  with 


184  SKETCH    OF   CONNECTICUT, 

the  miller  for  making  him  wait,  and  then  amused  hitnseh 
by  clinging  to  the  wheel,  and  going  with  it  fearlessly  as  it 
turned  in  the  water.  I  wondered  at  his  dangerous  sport, 
and  his  bold  words.  I  knew  not  then  that  I  should  live  to 
see  him  strive  to  plunge  his  country  into  perdition." 

The  Lady,  ever  intent  to  find  **  some  soul  of  goodness 
in  things  evil,"  replied, — 

"  Arnold  possessed  courage,  and  presence  of  mind,  in 
an  eminent  degree.  At  his  unsuccessful  attack  on  Canada, 
with  the  lamented  Montgomery,  he  displayed  superiour 
valour.  You  know  also,  that  he  sustained  extreme  hard 
ships,  in  his  march  through  the  wilderness  from  Kenne- 
beck.  Beside  the  labour  of  travelling  over  pathless- 
mountains,  and  swamps,  he  and  his  men  were  reduced  to 
the  necessity  of  feeding  on  the  vilest  substances,  even  cm 
the  remnants  of  their  own  shoes.  That  he  possessed  ac 
tive  as  well  as  enduring  courage  has  been  often  proved. 
In  his  battle  with  Sir  Guy  Carleton  on  Lake  Champlain, 
after  signalizing  his  valour,  he  was  so  solicitous  about  a 
point  of  honour,  as  to  prefer  blowing  up  his  own  frigate  to 
striking  the  American  flag  to  the  enemy.  His  radical 
faults  were  want  of  feeling,  and  of  moral  principle.  His 
fondness  for  pomp,  and  splendid  equipage  led  him  to  the 
meanest  acts  of  fraud,  when  in  command  at  Philadelphia, 
His  vindictive  spirit  never  forgave  the  reprimand  which 
was  there  given  him  by  Washington,  in  pursuance  of  the 
decree  of  the  court,  appointed  to  investigate  his  conduct 
From  that  period,  revenge,  and  treason  employed  hie 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE,  185 

meditations.  He  probably  procured  the  command  at 
West-Point,  witb  the  deliberate  design  of  delivering  to 
the  foe  that  "  rock  of  our  military  salvation." 

Anderson  who  could  scarcely  endure  to  yield  the  traitor 
that  measure  of  fame  which  he  had  earned,  felt  particu 
larly  uneasy  to  hear  it  from  lips  that  he  revered,  and  an 
swered  with  warmth — 

"  I  have  heard  his  courage  doubted,  Madam.  At  Sara 
toga,  where  he  so  madly  defied  danger,  he  was  known  to 
have  been  intoxicated.  I  recollect  how  angry  he  was. 
*t  the  battle  of  Bemis-heights,  because  the  command  was 
not  given  to  him  instead  of  General  Gates.  He  came  upon 
the  field  in  very  ill -humour,  and  brandished  his  sword  so 
carelessly,  that  he  wounded  in  the  head  an  officer  who 
stood  near.  Then  plunging  foolishly  into  the  most  peril 
ous  scenes  of  action,  he  had  his  leg  fractured  ;  and  I  heard 
4ie  surgeon  of  the  hospital  say,  that  he  was  so  peevish,  and 
furious  at  his  confinement,  and  pain,  that  no  one  liked  to 
be  near  him." 

Madam  L ,  perceiving  that  the  object  of  honest  An 
derson's  aversion  bade  fair  to  monopolize  his  whole 
visit,  made  an  attempt  to  change  the  current  of  his 
thought- 

"  There  is  a  story,"  she  said,  "  which  1  always  hear 
from  you,  with  peculiar  satisfaction.  I  refer  to  the  battle 
ofl^unker-hiil,  which  you  may  perhaps  recollect  you  have 
not  described  to  me  for  a  very  long  time." 

The  expression  of  the  soldier's  face  suddenly  changed, 


186  SKETCH   OF   CONNECTICUT, 

Debility  and  poverty  vanished  from  his  mind.  His  tall 
form  was  raised  erectly,  and  his  tone  became  more  free 
and  bold  as  he  recited  his  first  feat  of  arms.  The  u  Last 
Minstrel"  evinced  not  more  of  a  warriour's  pride,  when  he 
exclaimed — 

"  For  I  have  seen  war's  lightning  flashing, 
Seen  the  claymore  'gainst  bayonet  clashing, 
Seen  through  red  blood  the  war-horse  dashing; 
And  srorn'd  amid  that  dreadful  strife 
To  yield  a  step  for  death,  or  life." 

"  You  will  remember,  Madam,"  said  the  soldier,  "  that 
it  was  warm  weather  for  the  month  of  June,  when  the 
action,  to  which  you  allude,  took  place.  It  was  on  the 
evening  of  the  16th,  that  we  were  ordered  to  march  to 
Bunker-hill.  It  had  been  rumoured  that  the  British  troops 
intended  to  take  possession  of  it,  and  we  were  directed 
to  prevent  them.  People  say  now  that  Prescott  made  a 
mistake,  and  fortified  Breed's-hill,  instead  of  Bunker's, 
But  the  name  is  of  little  consequence,  as  long  as  the  vic 
tory  remains.  We  inarched  in  perfect  silence,  lest  we 
should  be  discovered  by  some  of  Gage's  centinels.  But 
some  of  us  could  not  refrain  from  cursing  the  vile  wretch, 
who  was  cooping  up  the  distressed  Boston  ians,  like  lambs 
in  a  quick-set  hedge.  We  did  not  arrive  on  the  ground 
till  near  midnight.  Then  we  commenced  our  labour-, 
and  it  seemed  as  if  the  Almighty  prospered  us.  Before 
day-light  our  fortifications  were  completed.  At  dawn,  the 
British  saw  with  great  surprise,  what  had  been  done  so 
near  them,  without  their  discovering  it  before.  Perhaps 


FORTY    YEAKS    SINCE.  187 

the  evil-minded  Saul  was  not  more  dismayed,  when  the 
stripling  David  displayed,  from  a  neighbouring  hill,  the 
spear,  and  the  cruse  of  water,  which  he  had  stolen  from 
his  head  while  he  slept.  They  acknowledged  that  Yan 
kees  could  work  well,  and  afterwards  found  that  they 
were  able  to  fight  as  well.  Early  the  next  spring,  when 
we  threw  up  fortifications  with  great  despatch  on  Dor 
chester  Heights,  General  Howe  on  discovering  them  the 
next  morning  through  a  thick  fog,  which,  like  a  vessel 
looming  at  sea,  made  them  appear  larger  than  they  really 
were,  struck  his  forehead  in  great  wrath,  exclaiming, 
"  what  shall  I  do  !  These  rebels  do  more  in  one  night, 
rhan  my  army  can  accomplish  in  weeks." 

"  But  I  beg  pardon,  Madam,  for  wandering  from  my 
subject.  As  soon  as  our  entrenchments  struck  the  eye  of 
the  British,  a  terrible  fire  opened  upon  us  from  Copp's- 
hill,  the  war-ships,  and  floating  batteries,  so  that  we  might 
pick  up  shot,  and  bombs,  wherever  we  turned.  We  were 
much  fatigued  after  the  severe  toil  of  a  sleepless  night, 
but  none  of  us  could  think  of  taking  rest  ;  and  what  was 
worse,  we  were  poorly  supplied  with  provisions.  I  can 
see  at  this  moment  General  Putnam  moving  round  among 
us,  and  animating  every  man  who  drooped,  by  his  bold 
and  cheerful  voice.  All  night  he  was  in  the  midst  of  our 
labours,  directing  and  bearing  a  part.  While  the  morn 
ing  was  yet  gray,  a  detachment  of  somewhat  more  than 
:in  hundred  men  was  despatched,  under  Captain  Knowl- 
ton.  to  take  post  on  the  left  hand  of  the  breast-work.  I 


188  SKETCH    OF    CONNECTICUT, 

knew  not,  as  I  hastened  on  with  them,  what  a  dangerous 
station  it  would  prove.  Yet  if  I  had,  I  should  not  have 
drawn  back,  for  my  heart  was  high.  When  we  reached 
the  spot,  we  were  employed  in  placing  one  rail-fence  par 
allel  with  another,  and  filling  the  interval  with  the  new- 
mown  hay  which  strewed  the  field, — that  field  where  men 
were  soon  to  lie  thick  as  herbs  beneath  the  sharp  sithe. 
In  the  course  of  the  forenoon,  a  few  more  soldiers  arrived, 
increasing  our  numbers  to  about  1 500.  We  made  but  a 
scanty  dinner,  though  those  of  us,  who  had  watched  all 
night,  and  got  no  breakfast,  were  rather  sharp-set.  Yet 
it  seemed  as  if  no  man  thought  of  food,  or  of  rest,  so  full 
was  his  heart  of  those  liberties,  which  he  was  about  to  de 
fend.  At  one  o'clock,  a  thick,  dark  smoke  spread  over 
the  skirts  of  the  hill.  We  had  scarcely  time  to  exclaim — 
"  See  !  Charlestown  with  its  fair  houses,  and  beautiful 
spire  burning,"  ere  we  saw  our  foes  marching  towards  us. 
Soon  the  smoke  of  the  town,  and  that  of  the  cannon 
mingled,  rising  in  heavy  volumes  towards  the  sky.  Pres- 
cott  flourished  his  sword,  till  it  cast  a  gleam  like  lightning 
among  us  ;  and  Putnam's  voice  thundered  hoarsely,  "  Re-  > 
member  Lexington." 

"  Ah  !"  said  the  Lady,  "  it  was  at  the  report  of  the 
blood  shed  at  Lexington  that,  like  the  Roman  Cincinnatus. 
he  cast  the  plough  from  his  hand,  and  leaving  his  unfinish 
ed  furrow,  rode  in  one  day  nearly  seventy  miles  to  join 
the  American  camp.  Washington  repeatedly  paid  high 
tribute  to  his  bravery,  and  his  virtues." 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  189 

Smiling  at  the  praise  of  his  favourite  general,  the  veteran 
proceeded  : — 

"  Knowlton,  also,  the  commander  of  our  little  band, 
was  a  lion-hearted  man,  and  his  lieutenants  did  their  du 
ty  bravely.  Colonel  Stark,  with  his  New-Hampshire 
back-woedsmen,  took  deadly  aim  as  if  in  their  own  forests. 
The  British  lines,  partly  wrapt  in  smoke,  marched  up  with 
colours  flying".  At  their  head,  came  Generals  Howe,  and 
Pigot.  with  a  contemptuous,  yet  noble  demeanour. 
:  Three  thousand  well-disciplined  men  followed  them,  sup 
ported  by  field  artillery.  First  marched  the  grenadiers, 
with  their  lofty  caps,  and  glittering  bayonets.  We  were 
commanded  to  reserve  our  fire,  until  they  were  within  a 
tew  yards  of  us.  When  they  reached  that  spot,  it  was 
wonderful  how  many  plumed  heads  fell.  Dismayed  at  our 
furious,  and  fatal  discharge,  they  at  length  fled  precipi 
tately  towards  their  boats. 

t;  Their  officers  pursued,  menacing  them  with  drawn 
swords.  With  difficulty  they  were  forced  to  rally.  A 
second  time  they  came  forward,  fought  with  great  valour, 
suffered  terrible  slaughter,  and  retreated.  The  officers, 
who  forced  them  a  third  time  to  the  charge,  said  to  each 
other,  with  melancholy  countenances — 

"  It  is  butchery  again  to  lead  these  brave  fellows  to  that 
fatal  spot." 

"  General  Clinton  stood  with  Burgoyne,  upon  Copp's- 
hill,  gazing  through  his  spy-glass  to  see  the  chastisement 
of  the  rebels.  But,  whence  marked  movements  of  dfs- 


J90  SKETCH   OF   CONNECTICUT, 

tress  in  the  British  lines,  he  flew  to  join  them,  and  was 
seen,  hurrying  with  distracted  steps  to  unite  with  Howe, 
and  his  council.  Then  they  increased  the  fire  from  their 
ships  of  war,  changed  the  position  of  their  cannon  so  as 
to  rake  the  inside  of  our  breast- work,  and  advanced  with 
fresh  resolution,  attacking  our  redoubt  on  three  sides  at 
ence.  The  carnage  became  dreadful.  At  this  important 
crisis,  our  ammunition  was  exhausted,  and  that  decided  the 
fate  of  the  day.  Could  we  but  have  obtained  the  materi 
als  of  defence,  the  British  would  never  have  driven  us 
from  that  hill.  Perhaps  they  might  have  buried  us  in  its 
bosom. 

£'  You  know,  Madam,  our  redoubt  was  lost.  I  never 
can  bear  to  say  that  we  retreated,  or  that  the  English  took 
it ;  but  it  was  lost  by  the  fortune  of  war. 

"  When  it  was  found  necessary  for  us  to  retire,  the  ene 
my  attempted  to  force  our  little  band  from  the  rail-fence, 
in  order  to  cut  off  the  retreat  of  the  main  body.  This  they 
found  no  such  easy  matter.  We  fought  till  not  a  cartridge 
was  left,  and  then  gave  them  a  parting  salute  with  the  but- 
end  of  our  muskets,  as  they  leaped  into  our  entrench 
ments.  Half  our  number  lay  lifeless,  or  wounded  among 
us.  Yet  even  the  dying  forbore  to  groan,  listening  for 
our  cry  of  victory.  Four  comrades  were  shot  beside  me. 
Their  warm  blood  poured  over  my  feet.  One  of  them 
was  my  brother,  whom  I  loved  as  my  own  soul.  Falling 
he  said — 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCt,-  191 

"  Here  are  yet  three  cartridges.  Take  them,  and  God 
be  with  you." 

"Strange  as  it  may  seem,  I  who  could  never,  from  my 
infancy,  see  him  suffer  pain  without  sharing  in  it,  took  the 
cartridges  from  his  quivering  hand,  and  paused  not  a  mo 
ment  to  mourn.  I  cannot  tell  how  many  times  I  fired. 
with  the  same  aim  that  I  have  taken  at  the  fox  in  his  speed, 
and  the  pigeon  in  the  air,  when  they  have  fallen.  My 
musket  burst,  and  I  snatched  another  from  the  dead  hand 
of  a  comrade.  The  Almighty  have  mercy  on  the  souls, 
who  were  sent  by  me  to  their  last  account.  When  we 
were  compelled  to  retire,  not  having  a  round  of  powder 
left,  and  being  unprovided  with  bayonets,  our  only  path 
was  over  a  neck  of  land,  where  we  were  exposed  to  a 
cross-fire  from  a  man  of  war,  and  two  floating  batteries. 

"  Our  loss,  in  that  perilous  combat,  was  less  severe  than 
could  have  been  expected,  and  would  almost  have  been 
forgotten,  had  not  the  brave  Warren  fallen.  He  was  a 
godlike  man,  and  the  idol  of  the  people.  He  had  per 
formed  prodigies  of  valour  that  day,  seeking  the  front  of 
danger.  After  the  musket-shot  struck  him,  an  elegant 
man,  in  the  uniform  of  a  British  officer,  was  seen  to  with 
draw  his  arm  from  that  of  General  Howe,  and  run  to 
wards  the  fallen,  with  great  rapidity.  Waving  his  sword 
to  disperse  the  regulars  who  followed  him,  he  bent  over 
General  Warren,  and  said  in  a  tremulous  tone — 

"  My  dear  friend,  I  hope  you  are  not  much  hurt." 

•'  The  fallen  hero  lifted  his  glazed  eye  to  him,  and  faint- 


192  SKETCH   OF    CONNECTICUT, 

]y  smiling,  expired.  This  officer  was  Colonel  Sraali,  who 
had  been  much  in  this  country  previously  to  the  war, 
and  had  formed  many  friendships  here.  He  was  once  so 
near  our  redoubt,  during  the  battle,  that  a  line  of  marks- 
men  took  aim  at  him,  perceiving  by  his  uniform  that  he 
held  rank  in  the  army.  Putnam  saw  them,  and  striking 
up  the  muzzles  of  their  pieces  with  his  sword,  exclaim 
ed— 

"For  God's  sake,  spare  that  man.  I  love  him  as  a 
brother." 

"  I  think  I  can  hear  at  this  moment,  the  voice  of  my 
old  general,  so  bold  and  loud.  Notwithstanding  his  rough 
exteriour,  he  had  a  tender  heart  for  the  wounded  and 
the  prisoner." 

"  I  knew  him,"  said  the  Lady,  "  as  a  friend  of  my  hus 
band,  and  occasionally  our  honoured  guest.  He  had  a 
kind  and  generous  nature,  scorning  dissimulation  in  all  its 
forms.  Though  he  possessed  valour,  which  even  in  the 
language  of  his  foes  made  him  "  wiling  to  lead  where  any 
dared  to  follow,"  his  energetic  soul  was  gentle  in  its 
affections,  and  easily  moved  to  pity.  I  find  we  are  always! 
ready  to  recount  the  virtues  of  those  who  have  aided  in 
delivering  our  country  ;  yet  we  ought  not  to  forget  the 
merits  of  our  enemies.  Were  any  in  the  British  lines  pe 
culiarly  conspicuous  during  this  battle  ?" 

"  Madam,"  answered  the  veteran,  "had  they  shews 
less  courage,  we  should  have  deserved  less  praise,  Howe 
was  in  all  places,  and  in  the  midst  of  every  thing,  always 


FORTY    YEARS  SINCE.  193 

animated,  and  collected.  He  was  wounded  in  the  foot, 
hut  disregarded  it  till  the  action  was  over.  Major  Pit- 
cairn,  who  was  so  active  at  Lexington,  distinguished  him 
self  here.  At  the  taking  of  the  redoubt,  he  was  one  of  the 
first  to  spring  upon  our  breast-work.  "  The  day  is  ours,'* 
he  shouted  with  a  clear,  glad  voice.  He  had  scarcely 
closed  his  lips,  ere  ahall  passed  through  his  body.  His  son, 
Captain  Pitcairn,  a  fine  young  man,  caught  him  in  his  arms 
as  he  fell,  and  bore  him  to  the  boat,  where  he  soon  died. 

"  The  enemy  complained  of  the  great  proportion  of  val 
uable  officers,  who  were  that  day  fatally  singled  out  by 
our  marksmen.  Ninety  were  among  the  slain  and  wound 
ed  ;  some  of  them  the  flower  of  their  army  and  nobility. 
General  Gage  himself  confessed  a  total  loss  of  nearly  elev 
en  hundred.  Among  us,  those  who  died  upon  the  field  of 
battle  or  soon  after,  amounted  to  about  one  hundred  and 
thirty.  More  than  twice  that  number  were  wounded.  The 
whole  of  these,  including  prisoners,  fell  short  of  five  hun 
dred.  We  were  defeated  solely  by  the  want  of  ammu 
nition,  and  when  we  retired  were  obliged  to  leave  several 
pieces  of  artillery  behind  us.  It  was  a  stirring  time,  Mad 
am,  and  every  thing  was  well  enough,  except  our  being 
obliged  to  retreat.  I  always  wish  to  leave  that  out  of  the 
story." 

"  It  was  a  retreat,  my  friend,"  she  answered,  "  which 
produced  the  effect  of  a  victory.  This  was  a  battle  where 
the  vanquished  seemed   to  reap  the  harvest,  and  the  vic 
tors  to  mourn.    It  might  almost  be  styled  the  Thermopy- 
17 


194  SKETCH  OF  CONNECTICUT. 

lae  of  our  revolution.  It  raised  the  doubting  spirit  of  our 
people,  and  taught  them  confidence  in  the  resources  of 
their  own  strength.  Those,  who  retained  possession  of  the 
field,  were  humbled  at  the  gallant  bearing  of  undisciplined 
troops,  and  depressed  at  the  magnitude  of  their  own  loss 
It  was  the  first  time  that  they  had  seen  military  skill,  and 
the  terrour  of  a  royal  name  bow  before  the  rude  enthusi 
asm  of  liberty.  It  was  a  difficult  page  in  the  lesson  of  hu 
miliation.  For  my  own  part,  I  have  never  since  locked 
upon  that  green  hill,  or  at  the  tomb  of  the  warriours  who 
sleep  in  its  bosom,  without  numbering  them  among  the 
silent  but  powerful  agents  who  influenced  our  destinies  a? 
a  nation.'* 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

•  Say,  who  shall  carry  a  letter  of  guile 

To  Corny n  the  red,  that  crafty  lord  ? 
And  who  for  the  meed  of  his  country's  «mile 

Will  brave  the  keen  edge  of  the  foeraan'a  sword  ?r 

Fight  of  Falkirk. 

THE  narrator  of  Bunker-hill  had  not  taken  his  leave, 
_when  two  gentlemen  entered,  who  like  him  had  served 
through  the  war,  but  with  a  different  fortune.  They  were 
of  the  distinguished  family  of ,  and  sons  of  a  gen 
tleman  who,  by  enterprize  in  commercial  pursuits,  had 
acquired  an  ample  fortune,  and,  by  that  energy  of  charac 
ter  which  gives  man  influence  over  his  fellows,  had  be 
come  th^founder  of  one  of  the  most  respectable  aristoc 
racies  which  dignified  his  native  place.  He  had  been  an 
officer  in  the  war  of  1 755,  and  his  death  occurred  at  about 
the  period  of  this  sketch.  The  latter  years  of  his  life  had 
been  marked  by  some  aberrations  of  intellect,  like  that 
of  Otis,  the  early  advocate  of  the  liberties  of  Massachu 
setts,  whose  memory  the  classic  pen  of  Tudor  has  em 
balmed.  General ,  the  eldest  of  his  five  sons,  was 

of  small  stature,  but  of  correct,  and  graceful  symmetry. 
Firm  in  camps,  and  wise  in  council,  in  refined  society  he 
was  gentleness  itself.  The  friend  of  Washington,  an  in 
mate  of  his  military  family,  and  highly  respected  by  the 
>oldievs  under  his  command,  he  bore  into  dome&iick  life. 


J96  SKETCH  OF   CONNECTICUT, 

the  spirit  of  that  dovelike  gospel  which  he  loved.     He 

was  accompanied  by  his  younger  brother  Colonel — . 

whose  noble  form  the  military  habit  well  became,  and 
whose  countenance  was  considered  as  a  model  of  manly 
beauty.  While  yet  a  boy,  pursuing  his  studies  at  Yale 
College,  the  war  commenced  ;  and  his  bold  spirit  prompt 
ed  him  to  rush  from  academic  shades  to  the  toils  of  the; 
tented  field.  He  continued  firm  throughout  the  whole 
contest,  and  rose  through  the  different  grades  of  command 
to  that  of  Lieutenant-Colonel,  while  yet  in  the  early  stages 
ef  manhood. 

The  army  has  been  called  a  school  for  manners,  even 
by  those  who  consider  it  hostile  to  morals,  and  to  the  bet 
ter  interests  of  man.  The  association  of  lofty  spirits,  in 
ured  to  danger  in  all  its  forms,  and  emulous  of  heroic 
deeds,  may  naturally  give  energy,  and  elevation  to  th* 
character,  which  in  the  "  piping  time  of  peace,"  has  liltl^ 
scope  for  action.  But,  among  the  officers  of  our  revolu 
tion,  this  was  blended  with  a  gallantry,  a  courtes}-,  which 
in  mixed  society  threw  around  them  somewhat  of  the  en 
chantment  of  the  age  of  chivalry.  It  produced  a  cast,  of 
manners,  which  was  peculiarly  admired  among  female?  . 
who  found  an  almost  irresistible  charm  in  the  graceful 
.  condescension  of  those,  so  long  accustomed  to  command. 
This  deportment  distinguished  both  these  visitants  oi 

Madam  L ,  though  modified  by  their  different  char.?' 

teristics. 

They  migbt  have  been  compared  to  the  two  Gracchi 


FORTY    YEARS   SINCE.  197 

save  that  the  elder  had  more  gentleness  of  soul,  and  the 
younger  less  ambition  for  popularity,  than  their  ancient 
prototypes.  After  offering  their  respects  to  the  Lady, 
whom  from  childhood  they  had  honoured  as  an  epitome  of 
all  that  was  noble  in  woman,  they  spoke  kindly  to  the 
the  poor  soldier,  who  had  risen  at  their  entrance. 

"  Sit  down,  my  good  fellow,"  said  General ,"  I 

am  sorry  that  you  have  lost  so  much,  by  your  country's 
gain." 

"  General,"  he  answered,  unconsciously  elevating  his 
crutch  to  his  shoulder,  as  if  it  had  been  a  musket,  "  I  have 
lost  only  a  hand  and  a  leg.  Many  have  lost  more,  and 
seen  their  country  enslaved  beside.  I  had  rather  this 
head  should  have  gone  likewise,  than  not  to  have  heard 
that  shout  of  victory  when  Burgoyne  was  taken." 

The  piercing  eye  of  Colonel flashed  with  a  war- 

riour's  pleasure.  The  recollection  of  that  event  was  dear 
to  his  soul.  He  knew  not  then  how  conspicuous  his  own 
noble  form  should  appear  in  later  times,  on  the  canvas  of 
the  illustrious  Trumbull  ;  deputed  both  to  witness,  and 
pourtray  the  brilliant  events  which  led  to  his  country's  lib 
erty.  But  the  picture  of  the  memory  was,  at  that  mo 
ment,  more  vivid  in  the  mind  of  Colonel  ,  than  it 

could  have  been  rendered  by  the  pencil  of  the  artist. 

Glowing  recollections,  and  proud  feeling,  retouched  the 
traces  of  the  scene  ;  and  in  an  instant  countless  images 
thronged  around  him.  The  deeply  marked,  and  interest 
ing  countenance  of  Burgoyne,  the  ill-concealed  rnelan- 
17* 


198  SKETCH    OF    CONNECTICUT, 

choly  of  his  officers,  amid  the  formalities  of  their  capitu 
lation,  the  martial  demeanour  of  Gates,  the  energetic, 
open  countenance  of  Knox,  the  sullen  faces  of  the  British 
soldiery,  the  half-suppressed  rage  with  which  they 
grounded  their  arms,  produced  a  combination  of  joy  and 
rapturous  gratitude,  softened  by  pity,  which  can  scarcely 
be  imagined  but  by  an  actor  in  those  tumultuous  scenes. 
The  very  tones  of  the  music,  which  guided  their  march, 
seemed  again  to  vibrate  on  his  ear,  and  the  foliage  of  the 
Saratoga  forests,  bright  with  the  opposing  hues  of  autumn, 
to  wave  in  accordance. 

Interesting  groups  filled  the  back  ground  of  this  mental 
picture.  The  funeral  of  General  Frazer  ;  the  incessant 
cannonade  upon  his  grave  ;  the  uncovered  head  of  the 
clergyman,  who  absorbed  in  the  services  of  heaven,  heed* 
ed  not  the  war  upon  earth  ;  the  pale,  delicate,  beautiful 
countenance  of  Lady  Ackland,  committing  herself  to  the 
waters  in  an  open  boat,  amid  the  darkness  and  storms  of 
night,  or  presenting  to  General  Gates  the  open  and  wet 
letter  of  Burgoyne,  in  which  her  protection  was  supplicat 
ed,  or  entreating  with  the  exquisite  tones  of  female  forti 
tude  in  anguish,  permission  to  attend  her  imprisoned  and 
desperately  wounded  husband  ;  the  magnanimous  Schuy- 
ler,  as  he  took  in  his  arms  the  three  little  children  of  the 
Baroness  Reidesel,  reassuring  the  spirits  of  the  stranger, 
and  the  captive,  by  his  tenderness  to  her  helpless  off- 
-pring  ;  these,  and  many  more  touching  images  were  call- 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  199 

ed  forth  by  the  allusion  of  the  disabled  soldier  to  the 
surrender  of  Burgoyne. 

The  transient  reverie  of  ColoneJ was  dispelled  by 

the  voice  of  the  Lady,  kindly  mentioning  Anderson,  who 
had  been  the  last  speaker. 

"  I  take  so  much  pleasure,"  she  said, v'  in  his  narratives, 
that  I  sincerely  regret  any  draw-back  should  exist  to  his 
part  of  the  satisfaction  in  visiting  me.  So  strong  arc  his 
patriotic  feelings,  that  he  likes  not  to  be  long  in  a  house, 
which,  for  so  many  years,  gave  shelter  to  General  Ar 
nold." 

"  I  feel  strongly  indignant,"  said  Colonel ,  "  that 

my  native  place  should  have  given  birth  to  the  only 
traitor,  who  ever  existed  among  the  officers  of  the  United 
States." 

"  When  we  recollect,"  replied  Madam  L ,  "  that 

our  contest  had,  at  first,  all  the  repulsive  features  of  a  civil 
war — when  we  balance  the  labours,  the  privations,  the  dis 
couragements  of  our  officers,  with  the  infirmities  of  human 
nature.  I  have  often  been  surprized,  and  always  grateful 
to  God,  that  this  instance  of  treason  was  solitary." 

"  There  was,"  said  General  ,  "  a  circumstance 

connected  with  the  history  of  Arnold,  with  which,  Madam,, 
you  may  not  have  been  familiar  ;  as  it  was  for  some  time- 
known  only  to  a  few,  who  possessed  the  confidence  of 
Washington.  The  treason  was  discovered  by  him,  on  his 
arrival  at  West-Point,  from  Hartford,  in  1781.  He  was 
astonished  at  perceiving  marks  of  disorder,  and  at  learn- 


200  SKETCH    OF   CONNECTICUT, 

ing  that  Arnold  was  absent,  whom  he  expected  would  have 
received  him  at  the  fortress.  Recrossing  the  Hudson,  he 
went  to  the  General's  house,  and  found  Mrs.  Arnold  in  a 
state  of  sudden,  and  violent  distraction.  Tearing  her 
hair,  she  could  scarcely  be  restrained  by  her  women,  and 
the  two  aids-de-camp  of  her  husband,  from  rushing  into 
the  streets.  At  the  sight  of  Washington,  her  frenzy  was 
redoubled,  with  cries  of"  Depart!  depart !  thou  demon. 
?ent  ta  torment  me."  Then  a  horrible  suspicion  of  trea 
son  first  entered  the  mind  of  the  Commander  in  Chief. 
Soon  the  circumstances  of  the  traitor's  escape  were  made 
known,  by  the  men  who  returned  from  rowing  him  on 
board  the  Vulture.  He  had  endeavoured  to  bribe  them 
also  to  desertion,  by  promises  of  promotion,  and  British 
gold.  Finding  them  resolute,  he  forced  them  to  trust  their 
lives  to  a  miserable  boat,  retaining  for  his  own  use,  the 
barge  in  which  they  had  innocently  conveyed  him  to  the 
enemy.  Intelligence  arrived  of  the  capture  of  Andre",  and 
Washington,  inexpressibly  afflicted,  hastened  to  the  army 
which,  under  the  command  of  General  Greene,  was  en 
camped  in  the  vicinity  of  Tappan.  He  immediately  sum 
moned  to  his  presence  Major  Lee,  of  the  celebrated 
legion  of  Virginia  horse,  an  intrepid  officer,  and  worthy 
the  confidence  of  his  Chief.  When  he  came.  Washington 
was  alone,  and  writing  in  his  teat.  The  glimmering  light 
of  the  lamp  displayed  a  countenance,  pale  with  anxiety 
and  watching.  His  noble,  and  commanding  appearance 
seemed  to  derive  new  interest  from  the  grief  which  shaded 


£ORTY    YEARS   SINCE.  201 

his  features.  It  was  a  searching,  yet  serene  sorrow,  such 
as  perchance  might  mark  the  brow  of  some  guardian  angel, 
who  saw  the  object  of  his  affectionate  tutelage,  plunging 
into  perdition.  He  rose  as  Major  Lee  entered,  and  said 
in  a  voice  whose  deep,  and  manly  tones  were  softened  into 
exquisite  modulation — 

"  Heaven  only  knows  where  the  treason  of  Arnold  will 
end.  Imputations  are  cast,  through  him,  upon  one  whom 
I  hold  most  pure,  and  noble.  Have  you,  among  your  bold, 
.Virginian  spirits,  any  man  capable  of  a  daring,  delicate, 
and  perilous  enterprize  ?  Know  you  any  one  willing  to  risk 
life,  liberty,  and  what  is  more,  honour,  upon  a  desperate 
stake,  where  the  chance  of  success  is  but  as  one  against  a 
thousand  dangers  ?" 

"  Did  you  say  that  honour  must  also  be  thrown  into  the 
balance,  my  General  ?"  inquired  Lee.  "  And  what  is  the 
counterpoise  ?" 

"  The  punishment  of  treason,"  replied  Washington  with 
energy,  "  the  thanks  of  his  country,  the  friendship  of  his 
Chief,  perhaps  the  rescue  of  an  unfortunate  victim  "  more 
sinned  against,  than  sinning." 

"  Lee  bent  his  eyes  to  the  earth,  in  deep  thought.  Again 
he  raised  them,  beaming  with  affection,  to  his  beloved 
commander.  Yet  he  looked  one  moment  to  Heaven,  as 
if  for  assurance,  ere  he  spoke. 

"  I  do  know  such  a  man  ;  and  but  one.  He  is  a  native 
of  my  own  Loudon  county.  Though  but  twenty-four  years 
»f  age,  heroes  honour  to  Virginia.  He  is  the  serjeant-ma- 


202  SKETCH    OF    CONNECTICUT, 

jor  of  my  cavalry,  and  has  served  since  '76  with  unsul 
lied  reputation.  His  courage  equals  any  danger,  and  his 
perseverance  is  invincible.  But  in  points  of  integrity  he 
will  be  found  inflexible.  1  know  not  how  far  it  is  the  will 
of  your  Excellency,  that  his  honour  should  be  put  to  the 
proof." 

"  The  cloud  passed  from  the  forehead  of  Washington,  ar* 
he  said — 

"  Heaven  be  praised.     My  friend,  you  have  raised  a 
heavy  weight  from  my  soul." 

"  He  then  gave  him  his  instructions  with  that  minuteness, 
and  accuracy,  which  he  ever  preserved  even  in  the  most 
perplexing,  and  dreadful  exigencies.     Lee  returned  to  the 
camp,  and  summoned  to  a  private   conference  his  faithful 
officer.     As  he  entered,  his  tall,  finely  proportioned  form, 
in  the  imposing  dress  of  the  Virginia  cavalry,  exhibited  a 
commanding  appearance.    His  grave  countenance  betok 
ened  a  character,  enduring,  and  undaunted,  such  as  ad 
versity   sometimes  forms.      His  black  eye,   keen  in  its 
glances,  but  almost  melancholy  when  at  rest,  indicated  a 
man  dexterous  to  read  the  secrets  of  others,  and  cautious 
*o  conceal  his  own.     His  black  hair,  cut  according  to  the 
military  fashion,  still  evinced  some  disposition  to  wreathe 
itself  into  those  close   curls,  which  had  given  his  youth  a 
cast  of  romantic  beauty.     His  broad  shoulders,  and  joint? 
firmly  knit,  gave  evidence  of  native  strength,  confirmed  b* 
'  verity  of  toil, 


FORTY    YEARS    S1NCL.  203 

*'I  have  sent  for  you,  Champe",  said  his  commander,  to 
entrust  to  you  an  expedition  which  requires  inviolable  se 
crecy." 

"  The  soldier  bowed. 

"  I  have  chosen  you  to  this  confidence,  because  I  have 
long  known  your  valour,  and  integrity.  I  commit  to  you 
what  may  influence  your  destiny,  beyond  the  power  of 
present  calculation.  It  may  secure  that  promotion  which 
is  so  dear  to  a  brave  man,  or  it  may  lead  to  an  untimely 
grave." 

**"  Again  the  soldier  bowed  with  an  unmoved  counte 
nance.  But,  as  the  outlines  of  the  mysterious  plan  were 
developed,  his  features  confessed  the  varying  interests  of 
wonder,  enthusiasm,  and  distress.  He  respectfully  pre 
served  silence,  until  his  commander  had  ceased  to  speak. 
Then  his  emotion  became  extreme.  He  traversed  the 
tent  with  hasty  strides,  and  his  breathing  was  thick,  and 
strong  as  one  who  approaches  convulsion.  The  bold 
Champe,  who  often  rode  unmoved  up  to  the  sabre's  edge, 
trembled,  and  could  scarcely  articulate — 

"  I  cannot  think  of  desertion.  I  would  serve  my 
Commander  in  Chief  with  the  last  drop  in  my  veins,  and 
the  last  breath  of  my  soul.  But  why  does  he  solicit  me  to 
appear  as  a  betrayer  of  my  country  ?" 

"  It  is  indispensable,"  answered  Lee,  "that  you  join 
the  ranks  of  the  enemy,  and  identify  yourself  with  them. 
How  else  can  you  expect  to  circumvent  the  traitor,  and 
bring  him  to  his  country's  justice  ?  It  is  the  particular 


£04  SKETCH   OF   CONNECTICUT, 

order  of  Washington,  that  you  offer  him  no  personal  inju 
ry,  but  restore  him  to  be  made  a  public  example/ ' 

"  Theresas  a  settled  sorrow  on  the  brow  of  the  sol 
dier,  and  he  almost  gasped  for  utterance,  as  he  said 
"  Speak  not  to  me  of  desertion  !" 

"  Lee  approached  him,  as  he  traversed  the  tent  with 
unequal  steps,  and  waving  all  circumstance  of  rank,  drew 
his  arm  within  his  own,  and  spoke  in  a  low  voice,  words 
which  made  him  start.  He  exclaimed  rapidly— 

"  It  is  false.  The  army  holds  not  an  officer  more  loyal 
to  the  liberties  of  America,  than  him  you  mention.  The 
suspicion  was  created  by  the  execrable  Arnold.  If,  as  you 
say,  it  might  be  in  my  power  to  prove  its  falsity,  I  know 
of  nothing  that  would  sooner  tempt  me  to  accede  to  your 
purpose.  Would  to  God,  it  were  at  the  expense  of  my 
blood,  and  not  of  my  integrity." 

"  His  emotion  redoubled,  and  his  breast  heaved  strong 
ly  against  the  band  which  compressed  it.     This  was  the 
parting  struggle.     Lee  was  astonished  at  the  length  of  his 
resistance. 

"  I  knew,"  he  said,  "  that  the  plan  was  replete  with 
peril.  Therefore  I  entrusted  it  to  you.  I  said,  I  have* 
known  Champe  from  his  youth.  He  will  not  shrink  from 
danger.  It  seems  1  was  mistaken.  Since  you  are  more 
moved  by  the  semblance  of  present  evil,  than  the  pros 
pect  of  immense  good,  you  are  released  from  ail  obliga, 
tion,  save  that  of  secrecy.  Leave  my  tent.  I  will  seek 
for  another,  who  shall  clear  innocence  from  suspicion,  bring 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  205 

treason  to   punishment,  fulfil  the  wishes  of  Washington, 
and  merit  the  thanks  of  his  country." 

"  Major  Lee,"  said  the  soldier  calmly,  "  this  appeal 
was  unnecessary.  I  had  resolved  to  go  when  I  last  spoke. 
You  know  me  too  well  to  believe  that  any  part  of  my  hes 
itation  has  arisen  from  fear." 

Delighted  to  secure  this  cautious,  and  intrepid  agent, 
Lee  gave  him  particular  instructions,  accompanied  by  the 
kindest  wishes,  and  recommended  an  immediate  depart 
ure.  Champe*  hastened  to  the  camp,  wrapt  himself  in  his 
cloak,  silently  arrayed  his  horse,  and  began  his  adventur 
ous  journey.  He  knew  that  his  first  danger  was  from  the 
pursuit  of  his  own  people  ;  who,  since  the  crime  of  Ar 
nold,  had  been  full  of  watchfulness,  and  suspicion. 

"Lee  sat  in  his  tent,  ruminating  upon  the  danger,  and 
magnanimity  of  Champe',  and  following  in  imagination 
the  speed  of  his  faithful  war-horse.  Half  an  hour  since 
his  departure  had  not  elapsed,  when  suddenly  the  officer 
of  the  day  stood  before  him.  In  hurried  accents,  he  said — 

"  A  dragoon  has  been  seen  to  leave  our  camp.  He  was 
challenged  by  a  patrole,  but  put  spurs  to  his  horse,  and 
escaped." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  replied  the  Major.  "The  fatigues 
of  the  day  had  so  exhausted  me,  that  I  was  half  slumber 
ing,  and  did  not  comprehend  your  communication." 

"  It  was  repeated,  and  he  answered — 

"  It  was  undoubtedly  some  countryman.  During  the 
whole  war  but  one  dragoon  has  deserted.  I  am  sorry  that 

18 


206  SKETCH   OF    CONNECTICUT, 

you  suspect  we  harbour  any  such  base  souls  in  our  Vir 
ginia  legion." 

"  Indignant  at  his  indifference,  the  officer  replied—- 
"  The  deserter  is  believed  to  be  no  Jess  a  person  than 
your   sergeant-major.     His  horse,  and  arms  are  missing 
from  their  quarters.      I  have  to  request  immediate  or 
ders  for  pursuit." 

''These  Lee  was  compelled  to  grant,  after  prolonging  the 
conversation  as  much  as  possible.  Immediately  a  band 
equipped  for  pursuit  appeared  in  front  of  his  tent.  On 
inspecting  them,  he  said  lo  the  lieutenant  at  their  head — 
•'  I  have  a  particular  service  for  you  in  the  morning. 
Call  Cornet  Middleton  to  the  command  of  this  party." 

"  This  arrangement  was  partly  to  create  delay,  that  the 
fugitive  might  have  more  the  advance  of  his  pursuers  ;  and 
partly  from  a  knowledge  of  the  tenderness  of  Middleton's 
disposition,  which  he  thought  would  prevent  him  from  in 
flicting  personal  injury  on  his  victim.  The  design  of  de 
lay  was  soon  frustrated  by  the  appearance  of  Cornet 
Middleton,  spurring  his  horse  in  front  of  his  associates, 
Such  command  of  countenance  had  Lee,  that  not  a  mus 
cle  moved,  as  he  delivered  his  orders  in  a  distinct,  delib 
erate  tone — 

"  Pursue  as  far  as  you  can  with  safety  Sergeant  Cbam- 
pe",  who  is  suspected  of  desertion  to  the  enemy.  He  has 
been  seen  to  take  the  road  leading  to  Paulus-hook.  Bring 
him  alive,  that  he  may  suffer  in  the  presence  of  the  army  ; 
but  if  he  resist,  kill  him." 


FORTY    YEARS   SINCE,  207 

The  tramp  of  the  horses,  put  to  full  speed,  instantly 
succeeded  his  words.  He  strained  his  eyes  after  them, 
in  agony.  It  was  midnight,  and  rain  fell  in  protracted 
showers.  Champe  had  the  advance  of  his  pursuers  scarce 
ly  one  hour. 

"  He  will  be  overtaken,"  exclaimed  Lee.  "  I  have 
destroyed  a  brave,  and  honourable  man." 

"Securing  the  entrance  of  his  tent,  he  threw  himself  upon 
the  earth,  in  bitterness  of  soul.  Groans  burst  from  his 
manly  bosom,  and  deeply  he  execrated  the  perfidy  of  Ar 
nold,  which  had  been  the  cause  of  all  this  woe. 

"  Rain  had  fallen  soon  after  the  departure  of  Champe, 
which  enabled  his  pursuers,  with  the  aid  of  the  lights 
they  bore,  to  discern  his  track.  It  was  for  him  an  unfor 
tunate  circumstance,  that  the  front  shoes  of  the  horses  of 
those  dragoons  had  a  private  mark  by  which  their  impres 
sion  was  distinctly  known  to  each  other.  This  precau 
tion,  which  had  often  proved  useful,  now  greatly  enhanced 
his  danger.  Middleton,  with  his  men,  occasionally  dis 
mounted  to  examine  these  impressions  ;  and  as  no  other 
horse  had  past  since  the  shower,  mistake  was  impossible. 
Day  broke  when  they  were  several  miles  north  of  the 
village  of  Bergen.  Ascending  an  eminence,  just  before 
reaching  the  Three  Pigeons,  they  descried  Champe  not  half 
a  mile  in  front.  Vigilant  and  active,  he  also,  at  the  same 
moment  descried  them.  Putting  spurs  to  his  horse,  he  de 
termined  to  outstrip  them.  Middleton,  calling  on  his  men 
to  imitate  him,  urged  his  horse  to  breathless  speed.  Re- 


208  SKETCH    OP   CONNECTICUT, 

collecting  a  shorter  route  through  the  woods,  to  the  bridge 
below  Bergen,  which  diverged  from  the  great  road  near 
the  Three  Pigeons,  he  directed  a  sergeant  with  five  dra 
goons  to  take  it,  and  obtain  possession  of  the  bridge, 
Champ^  also  recollected  this  shorter  road,  but,  thinking  it 
probable  that  Middleton  would  avail  himself  of  it,  felt  con 
strained  to  avoid  it.  He  also  knew  that  it  was  generally 
preferred  by  those  parties  of  our  men  who  were  returning 
from  the  neighbourhood  of  the  enemy,  on  account  of  the 
concealment  which  the  shade  of  its  trees  afforded. 

"  Fruitful  in  expedients,  he  with  great  presence  of  mind 
resolved  to  relinquish  his  original  destination  to  Paulus- 
hook,  and  seek  refuge  from  two  British  gallies,  which  usu 
ally  lay  a  few  miles  east  of  Bergen.  Entering  this  village, 
he  turned  to  his  right,  and  disguising  his  track  as  much 
as  possible,  by  choosing  the  beaten  roads,  directed  his 
course  towards  Elizabeth-town  Point.  The  sergeant, 
with  his  dragoons,  concealed  himself  at  the  bridge,  ex 
pecting  every  moment  to  dart  upon  his  prey.  Thither 
Cornet  Middleton  also  soon  arrived,  and  found,  to  his  ex 
treme  mortification,  that  the  victim  had  eluded  his  strata 
gem.  Returning  a  short  distance,  he  inquired  of  the 
villagers  of  Bergen,  if  a  dragoon  had  been  seen  that  morn 
ing,  alone,  and  preceding  him.  They  answered  in  the 
affirmative,  but  their  information  of  his  route  varied. 
The  pursuers,  in  great  chagrin,  dispersed  through  the 
whole  village  to  search  for  the  track  of  his  horse.  It  was 
discovered  just  at  the  spot  where,  leaving  the  village,  he 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  209 

had  taken  the  road  towards  the  Point.  They  flew  with 
the  speed  of  lightning.  Again  the  fugitive  was  descried. 
His  eye  was  also  bent  upon  them  ;  and  they  perceived 
that,  notwithstanding  the  rapidity  of  his  course,  he  had 
lashed  his  valice  to  his  shoulders,  and  that  he  carried  his 
drawn  sword  in  his  hand.  The  pursuit  was  rapid,  and 
close.  Not  more  swiftly  does  the  eagle  pursue  the  dove 
ihrough  the  air. 

"They  were  within  a  few  hundred  yards  of  him.  They 
Routed  with  eager  joy.  The  heart  of  the  fugitive  beat 
with  tumultuous  sensation,  lest  the  gallies  where  he  sought 
refuge  might  not  be  there.  In  an  instant,  he  perceived 
their  white  sails  ;  and  for  the  first  time  blest  the  flag  of 
his  country's  foe. 

"  A  long  marsh,  and  the  deep  waters  lay  between  him, 
and  the  ark  of  safety.  He  sprang  from  his  horse,  and 
plunged  into  the  morass.  His  pursuers  arrived,  and  dis 
mounted  also. 

"  Champe*,  struggling  with  the  tenacious  and  deceitful 
footing,  and  sometimes  sinking  in  the  slimy  pool,  still  held 
his  glittering  sword  high  above  his  head.  Reaching  the 
brink  of  the  river,  he  threw  away  his  cloak,  and  scab 
bard,  lest  they  might  obstruct  his  desperate  enterprize. 
He  threw  his  broad  breast  upon  the  waters,  and  divided 
them  with  Herculean  strokes.  But,  in  his  extremity,  his 
trusty  sword  escaped  from  his  grasp,  and  the  head  of  the 
bold  dragoon  sunk  for  a  moment,  as  if  in  despondency, 
or  sorrow. 


210  SKETCH   OF    CONNECTICUT. 

"At  this  crisis,  a  fire  commenced  from  the  gallies  upon 
the  cavalry  on  shore,  some  of  whom,  like  the  horsemen  of 
Pharoah,  were  preparing  to  plunge  in  after  him,  who  thus 
boldly  made  for  himself  a  path  through  the  deep.  But 
a  light  boat,  with  rapid  oar,  approached  him,  and  bore 
him  on  board  the  gallies. 

"  The  British  had  been  watchful  of  the.  strife,  and  draw 
ing  the  inference  that  Champ^  was  a  pursued  deserter,  de 
termined  to  protect  him. 

"Cornet  Middleton  collected  his  scattered  band,  and 
returned  to  the  camp,  chagrined,  and  in  silence.  It  was 
three  in  the  afternoon  ere  they  arrived,  yet  Lee  had  not 
yet  left  his  tent.  So  sorely  did  the  agitation  of  his  mind 
affect  physical  energy,  that  he  almost  seemed  the  victim 
of  intermittent  fever.  He  was  roused  by  a  shout.  It  was 
universal  and  prolonged — 

'  The  traitor  is  slain.  The  second  Arnold  has  met  his 
doom." 

"  Rushing  from  his  tent,  he  saw  the  horse  of  Champe  led 
on,  with  his  cloak,  and  the  scabbard  of  his  trusty  sword. 
The  eye  of  the  fiery  animal  was  roiling,  and  blood-shot^ 
and  his  sides  heaved  deeply,  more  in  anger,  than  from  toil. 
To  Lee  it  seemed  that  he  was  mourning  for  his  master. 

"  I  knew,  he  sighed,  that  Champe  loved  thee  as  a  bro 
ther,  thou  forsaken  animal  !  Thou  hast  been  his  compan 
ion  these  five  years,  in  all  dangers,  by  night  and  by  day. 
Consumed  by  heat,  or  chilled  by  frost,  when  sleep  depart 
ed  from  his  eyes,  thou  wert  with  him." 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  211 

'*  Groaning  audibly  he  returned  to  his  tent,  exclaim 
ing— 

"  The  blood  of  my  bravest  man  is  upon  my  soul  to  all 
eternity." 

"  Cornet  Middleton  entered.     The  Major  read  the  set 
tled  gloom  upon  his  brow,  and  his  hopes  rekindled. 

"  The  traitor  has  eluded  me,"  he  said,  and  as  he  re 
traced  the  adventure,  Lee  had  need  of  all  his  self-controul 
to  repress  the  rapture  that  kindled  in  his  eye.  His  sick 
ness  vanished.  Throwing  himself  upon  his  horse,  he  hast 
ened  to  head-quarters,  and  sought  a  private  interview  with 
the  Commander  in  Chief.  Thrice  Washington  pressed 
hard  the  hand  of  his  Major  ;  and  once  a  bright  moisture 
glistened  in  his  eye,  as  he  heard  the  loyalty,  the  perils 
the  escape  of  the  faithful  Champe. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

''  Mid  thy  full  wreath  no  bosona'd  worm  shall  feed, 
Nor  envy  shame  it  with  one  mingling  weed, 
This  to  thy  deeds  doth  public  Justice  give, 
That  with  thy  country  shall  thy  glory  live." 

Mrs.  Morion. 

(  THE  sergeant-major  of  dragoons,"  continued  General 
T  -  ,"  was  kindly  received  on  board  the  British  gallies, 
and  sent  to  New-  York.  After  passing  the  usual  interro 
gations  before  the  adjutant-general,  he  was  taken  into 
the  presence  of  Sir  Henry  Clinton.  Not  doubting  the  sin 
cerity  of  a  man  who  had  encountered  such  dangers  in  order 
to  join  his  standard,  he  inquired  with  great  emphasis  — 

"  How  may  this  spirit  of  defection  among  the  American 
trGG?S  be  be?t  excited  1    Are   any  general  officers  sus 


pected  of  being  concerned  in  the  conspiracy  of  Arnold  ? 
What  is  the  prevailing  opinion  respecting  the  doom  of 
\ndre  ?  Is  not  the  popularity  of  Washington  with  the 
army  declining  ? 

"  To  these  insidious  questions  Champ£  returned  wary 
answers.  The  haughty  features  of  Clinton  relaxed  into  a 
sarcastic  smile,  and  putting  gold  into  his  hand,  he  direct 
ed  him  to  wait  on  General  Arnold. 

"  He  is  forming,"  said  he,  "  an  American  legion  for  the 
service  of  his  Majesty.  You  must  have  a  command  in  it 
since  you  so  well  understand  how  to  baffle  the  rebels." 


214  SKETCH   OF   CONNECTICUT, 

"  Champe  was  presented  to  Arnold  by  an  officer.  He 
found  him  in  one  of  those  elegant  mansions,  which  suffer 
ed  so  much  from  the  wantonness  of  abuse  by  the  British 
soldiery.  Fond  of  pomp,  and  elated  by  it,  he  regarded 
the  dragoon  with  an  arrogant,  inquisitorial  look.  The 
Virginia  cavalry  had  borne  such  high  reputation  for  intre 
pidity  in  their  country's  cause,  that  he  could  scarcely  be 
lieve  that  one  of  them  stood  before  him  in  the  character 
of  a  deserter.  Yet,  amid  the  assumed  haughtiness  of  hie 
manner,  it  seemed  as  if  the  consciousness  of  his  crime 
came  suddenly  over  him,  and  callous  as  was  his  heart,  he 
dared  not  offer  the  Virginian  the  hand  of  a  traitor. 

"  A  letter  from  the  commander  of  the  gallies,  who  had 
witnessed  the  circumstances  of  the  escape,  was  enclosed 
to  him  by  one  of  the  aids  of  Sir  Henry  Clinton.  He  pe 
rused  it,  and  his  doubts  vanished.  Hurrying  toward 
Cliaulp^  with  his  quick,  limping  gait,  he  said — 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  that  you  are  so  wise  a  man.  You 
shall  have  the  same  station  in  my  legion,  which  you  have 
held  in  that  of  the  rebels." 

"  This  was  a  fiery  ordeal  to  Champd.  He  had  submit 
ted  to  the  exposure  of  his  escape,  and  to  the  ignominy  re* 
suiting  from  imputed  treachery,  without  repining,  con 
sidering  them  as  the  sacrifice  necessary  to  be  made  for  the 
attainment  of  that  great  good  which  Hope  was  offering. 
But  to  bear  arms  against  that  country,  for  which  he  had 
fought,  spent  watchful  nights  upon  the  cold  ground,  arid 
sent  his  midnight  prayer  to  heaven,  was  more  than  he 


FORTY    YEARS   SINCE.  215 

could  sustain.  Scarcely  could  he  withhold  his  hand  from 
plunging  a  sword  into  the  heart  of  the  traitor.  Scarcely, 
with  all  his  characteristic  calmness,  could  he  command 
utterance  to  say,  that  he  wished  to  retire  from  war,  for  he 
was  aware  that  if,  in  its  various"  vicissitudes,  he  should  fall 
into  the  hands  of  the  Americans,  a  gibbet,  at  which  his 
soul  revolted,  would  be  his  inevitable  doom.  The  blood 
mounted  to  the  forehead  of  the  traitor,  at  this  refusal. 
Champe  marked  the  rising  storm  of  passion,  and  hasten 
ing  to  quell  it,  said — 

•"  "  Nevertheless,  I  have  a  martial  disposition.  It  may 
be  that  my  mind  cannot  rest,  to  see  the  glory  of  war,  and 
not  partake  it.  If  it  prove  so,  I  will  avail  myself  of  your 
offer." 

"  Arnold  was  satisfied,  and  appointed  him  quarters  near 
himself.  The  dragoon,  sensible  that  the  greatest  circum 
spection  was  necessary,  endeavoured  so  to  conduct  as  to 
lull  suspicion.  His  first  object  was  to  convey  letters  to 
Lee.  But  to  so  dangerous  an  attempt  many  obstacles  were 
interposed.  In  his  private  instructions,  he  had  been  di 
rected  to  a  person  on  whose  aid  he  might  rely  ;  one  of  that 
class  of  adventurous  and  patriotic  spirits,  who  submitted 
to  the  most  humiliating  disguises,  to  obtain  intelligence  for 
their  country's  good.  Their  dangers  were  more  affecting 
than  those  incurred  upon  the  field  of  battle  ;  for  with  them, 
the  punishment  of  defeat  was  ignominious  death,  and  the 
reward  of  victory  inglorious  concealment.  Females  fre 
quently  dared  the  perils  connected  with  a  system  of  es- 


216  SKETCH    OF    CONNECTICUT, 

pionage,  and  like  the  Saxon  king  amusing  himself  with  his 
harp  in  the  camp  of  the  foe,  secretly  unstrung  the  sinews 
of  the  enemy's  strength. 

"  A  delay  of  several  days  intervened,  ere  Champe'  found 
it  practicable  to  elude  his  attendants,  and  go  in  search  of 
this  unknown  coadjutor.  It  was  beneath  the  cover  of  a 
gloomy  evening,  when  rain  fell  in  torrents,  that  he  ven 
tured  cautiously  to  open  the  door  of  a  small  dwelling  in 
the  suburbs  of  the  city.  A  man  was  there,  hovering  over 
a  miserable  fire,  and  hastily  stripping  the  feathers  from 
some  dead  poultry.  A  basket  of  eggs,  as  if  for  the  market 
of  the  next  day,  stood  near  him  on  a  bench.  He  started  at 
the  British  uniform,  and  playing  with  the  long  hair  which 
hung  over  his  eyes,  said  in  the  tone  of  an  idiot — 

"  Here's  fine  fowls,  your  honour, — fine  for  the  spit,  Sir. 
Will,  you  buy  some  fresh  eggs  ?  three  for  sixpence." 

"  Then  lifting  the  basket,  he  ran  with  childish  haste  to 
exhibit  it  to  the  stranger.  Champe  fixed  upon  him  his 
keen  black  eye,  and  repeated  with  deep  intonation  the 
watch-word  which  had  been  given  him  by  Lee.  Instan 
taneously  the  half  bent  form  became  erect,  and  the  fidget 
ing,  wandering  movements  of  idiocy  were  exchanged  for 
the  light  of  an  intelligent  countenance.  Securely  bolting- 
the  door,  he  drew  a  chair  for  Champe',  and  listened  to  his 
brief  conversation  with  deep  emotion.  As  he  gave  him, 
at  parting,  the  letter  to  be  conveyed  to  the  American 
camp,  he  would  fain  have  put  into  his  hand  a  piece  of 
gold.  But  the  spy,  as  if  touched  by  the  spear  of  Ithuriel, 


FORTY    YEARS    SINGE.  217 

rose  to  the  full  height  of  six  feet,  and  extending  his  arm  in 
an  attitude  of  native  majesty,  and  uncovering  his  head, 
where  a  deep  scar  severed  the  thick  locks,  said — 

"  You  mistake  me.  Suppose  ye  that  gold  is  payment 
for  these  scars — this  disgrace — this  wretchedness  ?  Ought 
you  not  better  to  read  the  heart,  where  the  love  of  its 
country  lies  so  deep,  that  many  waters  cannot  quench 
it,  neither  the  floods  drown  it  ?  Here,  a  miserable  outcast, 
I  think  of  my  desolate  country,  and  my  heart  bleeds,  not 
for  itself,  but  for  her." 

i4  Half-abashed  at  the  lofty  demeanour  of  the  spy, 
Champe"  pressed  his  hand,  and  departed.  The  next  day, 
Major  Lee  communicated  to  Washington,  in  his  marquee, 
the  following  letter  in  cypher. 

"NEW-YORK,  OCTOBER  10th,  1781. 
"  With  the  circumstances  of  my  escape  you  were  un 
doubtedly  made  acquainted,  at  the  return  of  my  pursuers. 
The  bearer  will  inform  you  that  my  reception  on  board 
the  gallies,  and  at  this  place,  has  been  favourable  to  our 
wishes.     I  am  able  confidently  to  assure  you,  that  the  sus 
picions  excited  by  Arnold  are  false  as  himself.    Not  one  of 
our  officers  is  supposed  by  the  British  to  be  otherwise  than 
inimical  to  their  cause.  Only  one  has  fallen,  owe  son  of  per 
dition.  To  have  the  pleasure  of  doing  this  justice  to  fideli 
ty,  balances  the  evils  of  my  situation.  I  was  yesterday  com-  • 
pelled  to  a  most  afflicting  step,  but  one  indispensable  to 
the  completion  of  our  plan.     It  was  necessary  for  me  to 
accept  a  commission  in  the  traitor's  legion,  that  I  might 
19 


218  SKETCH    OF    CONNECTICUT, 

have  uninterrupted  access  to  his  house.  Thither  he  usu 
ally  returns  at  midnight,  and  previously  to  retiring,  walks 
a  short  time  in  his  garden.  There  I  am  to  seize,  and  gag 
him,  and  with  the  assistance  of  this  trusty  spy,  bear  him 
to  a  boat,  which  will  be  in  readiness.  In  case  of  inter 
rogation,  we  shall  say,  that  we  are  carrying  an  intoxicated 
soldier  to  the  guard-house.  Some  of  the  pale?  from  the 
garden  fence  are  to  be  previously  removed,  that  our  silent 
passage  to  the  alley  may  be  facilitated.  On  the  night, 
which  the  bearer  is  commissioned  to  appoint,  meet  me  at 
Hoboken,  with  twenty  of  the  Virginia  cavalry,  those 
brothers  of  my  soul,  and  there,  God  willing,  1  will  deliver 
to  your  hand,  the  troubler  of  Israel. 

JOHN  CHAMPE." 

"  Unforeseen  circumstances  occurred  to  protract  thr- 
enterprise.  Lee  longed  for  the  appointed  day  with 
impatience  of  a  lover.  At  length  it  arrived,  and  with  a 
party  of  dragoons  he  repaired  to  Hoboken.  Three  led- 
horses,  completely  accoutred,  accompanied  the  train. 
The  beautiful  steed  of  Champe  was  one  of  the  number, 
and  Lee  could  scarcely  restrain  his  joy,  as  he  saw  hiag 
proudly  champing  his  bit,  and  anticipated  the  pleasure 
with  which  his  faithful  officer  would  again  remount  him. 
He  concealed  himself  with  his  party  in  a  thick  vrpod. 
Evening  drew  on,  it  seemed,  more  slowly  than  ever. 
Dark  clouds  partially  enveloped  the  atmosphere.  A  few 
faint  stars  were  occasionally  visible.  The  eye  of  Lee 
was  continually  upon  the  waters,  and  before  the  appoint- 


FORTY    YEARS   SINCE.  219 

ed  hour,  he  fancied  that  he  heard  the  dash  of  oars,  and 
the  watch-word  in  the  voice  of  Champt:.  Midnight  passed, 
the  dawn  gleamed,  the  morning  opened,  but  no  boat  ap 
peared. 

"  Disappointed,  and  full  of  apprehension  for  the  safety 
of  his  faithful  emissary,  Lee  collected  his  party,  and  re 
turned  to  consult  with  Washington.  Several  days  of  anx 
iety  intervened,  ere  the  arrival  of  the  trusty  spy,  from 
whom  he  learned  that  a  sudden  movement  of  Arnold  discon- 
.certed  their  plan,  but  a  few  hours  before  the  t;me  appoint 
ed  for  its  execution.  He  changed  his  quarters  to  superin 
tend  the  embarkation  of  his  troops,  who  were  transferred 
from  their  barracks  to  ships,  destinied  for  some  secret  expe- 

r^iJr*"    TU:-, jfoH*  :  •'   '  ' 

of  Virginia.  ac- 

rioiT'i  '  ^v?fj 

native  state  h^  .'•  H  the 

. 
•  :n  ihickets,  nr>(;  s-jtlering 

• 
• 

x.v,  iirt&ieiicu.  i-  iUajur  juee,  and  threw  him?elt 
at  his  feet,  a  broken-hearted  man.  His  commander  rais 
ed  him  in  his  arms,  and  tears  flowed  over  his  manly  cheeks. 
Addressing  himself  to  an  officer  of  a  noble  countenance, 
who  stood  intently  viewing  the  scene,  he  said — 

'*  General  Greene,  the  worth  of  this  manls  incalculable. 


220  SKETCH    OF    CONNECTICUT, 

You  know  something  of  his  virtues,  but  the  half  of  his 
sufferings  has  not  been  told  you." 

"  The  veteran  received  him  as  a  brother.  There  is 
nothing  like  a  participation  in  common  danger  to  cement 
the  hearts  of  men  together.  Friendships  formed  in  pros 
perity  may  be  sincere  ;  but  those,  tried  by  adversity,  are 
like  gold  from  the  furnace. 

"  Lee  directed  the  disconsolate  Charnpe  to  Washing 
ton,  and  ordered  his  servant  to  bring  him  the  horse,  and 
cloak,  which  were  brought  back  by  Cornet  Middleton, 
It  was  an  affecting  sight  to  see  the  soldier  meet  his  favour 
ite  animal.  Till  that  moment  he  had  preserved  his  man 
hood.  But,  when  he  saw  that  mute  companion  of  his  dan  - 

.  -  T—;'^<' 

.  m- 

•,  knows 
so  *M 

*'  Go,  r  :J«- 

;'«ir- 

rt*     In  the   failure  of  your   design-,  you  deserve  more  I 
praise,  than  many  victors  wnoiu  iuc  *>  oriel  have  appi. 
ed.     I  cannot  again  risk  you  in  this  war.     Your  life  is  too 
raluabie  tome,  and  to  your  country,  to  be  again  exposed 
to  the  dangers  of  battle,  or  to  the  hazard  of  that  vengeance, 
which  the  enemy  would  inflict,  if  you  became  their  pris. 
oner." 
"  Champe*  received  his  discharge,  and  retired  to  private 


FORTY    YEARS   SINCE.  ^21 

life,  embellishing  it  with  his  virtues,  and  carrying  with 
him,  what  was  to  him  above  all  price,  the  friendship  of 
Washington." 

"How,"  inquired  Colonel ,  "  had  this  enterprise 

reference  to  the  liberation  of  Andr£  ?" 

"  It  was  ardently  hoped  by  Washington,"  replied  his 
brother,  "  that  the  capture  of  Arnold  might  develop  some 
circumstance  of  palliation,  which  would  permit  us  to  re 
store  the  amiable  Andre  to  his  friends.  This  was,  how 
ever,  the  dictate  of  compassionate  feelings,  rather  than  of 
sober  judgment.  But  long  ere  CHSTnpe  could  bring  his 
designs  to  their  termination,  the  unfortunate  and  noble- 
minded  Andre  had  confessed  the  character  in  which  he 
came,  and  by  the  sentence  of  the  court-martial  had  been 
led  to  execution." 

"  That  interesting  man,"  said  the  Lady,  "  and  the  firm 
ness  with  which  he  suffered,  made  a  deep  impression  upon 
all  classes  of  persons  in  our  community.  In  this  instance, 
and  in  the  imprisonment  of  young  Asgill,  in  retaliation  for 
the  unprincipled  murder  of  Huddy  by  Lippincut,  Wash 
ington  subjected  his  washes  to  the  controul  of  policy." 

"  But  he  could  not  suppress  his  sympathies,"  said  Col 
onel  .  "  They  were  visible  in  his  changed  counte 
nance,  when  he  spoke  of  their  misfortunes.  You  have 
justly  admired,  Madam,  the  firmness  of  Andr£  ;  yet  there 
is  a  circumstance  respecting  one  of  our  own  Connecticut 
men,  which,  though  less  applauded,  is  worthy  of  equal 
honour.  When  the  retreat  of  vVashington  left  the  British 

iy* 


222  SKETCH   OF    CONNECTICUT. 

in  possession  of  Long-Island,  it  became  exceedingly  im 
portant  to  know  their  plan  of  operations.     Application  for 
that  purpose,  was  made  to  Captain  Knowlton,  whose  name 
will  remind  Anderson  of  the  rail- fence,  and  of  the  terrible 
carnage  at  Bunker-hill.     Nathan  Hale,  a  native  of  Con 
necticut,  a  young  man  with  the  rank  of  captain,  urged 
earnestly  for  the  hazardous  service.     He  passed  in  dis 
guise  to  the  island,  obtained  the  most  important  informa 
tion,  and  was  on  the  point  of  departure.    At  that  moment 
he  was  suddenly  apprehended ,  and  carried  before  Sir 
William  Howe.     Sctfrhing  dissimulation,   he  frankly  ac 
knowledged  for  what  purpose  he  came.     He  was  ordered 
for  execution  the  next  morning,  and  treated  in  the  most 
unfeeling  manner.     It  was  in  vain  that  he  requested  the 
attendance  of  a  clergyman,  or  even  the  favour  of  a  bible 
for  one  moment.     Letters  written  to  a  mother,  and  the 
dearest  friends  of  his  heart,  were  destroyed.     The  reason 
given  by   the  provost- marshall  for  this  singular  cruelty, 
was — 

"  The  rebels  shall  never  know  that  they  have  in  their 
army,  a  man  capable  of  dying  with  such  firmness." 

"  A  stranger,  exposed  to  the  bitterness  of  insult,  without  •' 
a  glance  of  pity,  or  a  tear  of  sympathy,  he  approached  the 
gallows  with  an  undaunted  air,  uttering  the  heroic  senti 
ment — 

"  I  lament  that  I  have  only  one  life  to  lose  in  the  service 
of  my  country." 
"Neither  hope  of  promotion,  nor  pecuniary  re  ward,  had 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  223 

incited  him  to  this  enterprise.  His  sole  motive  was  patri 
otism  ;  yet  he  sleeps  without  a  stone,  almost  without  a 
record.  How  different  was  his  treatment,  so  disgraceful 
to  humanity,  from  the  tender  attentions  bestowed  on  An 
dre  by  Washington  !  How  different  the  barbarity  of  his 
murder  from  the  poignant  regret  with  which  Washington 
signed  the  warrant  for  the  execution  of  Andre* !" 

"  It  can  never  be  necessary,"  said  the  Lady,  "  to  add 
bitterness  to  the  severity  of  the  law.  Justice,  and  cruelty 
haveuo  affinity  ;  it  is  the  depravity  of  man  which  blends 
them.  In  the  character  of  Washington,  sympathies  and 
energies  are  finely  mingled.  We  are  always  glad  to  find 
that  a  hero  does  not  forfeit  the  sensibilities  of  a  man." 

"  It  is  easy,"  said  Colonel  — — ,  "  to  pass  encomiums 
on  the  virtues  of  Washington,  for  it  is  always  safe  to  do  so. 
But  we,  who  saw  him  without  restraint,  who  knew  the 
secret  trials  which  he  endured,  are  most  sensible  how  far 

beneath  his  merits  is  the  meed  of  fame.     While  to  a  dis- 

• 

tant  observer  he  might  seem  the  most  fortunate  of  men, 
hidden  darts  were  piercing  him.  His  disinterested  labours 
were  not  always  correctly  estimated,  Congress  some 
times  blamed,  often  opposed  his  wisest  measures.  It  con 
cealed  within  its  bosom  a  faction,  anxious  to  supplant  him. 
Instigated  by  the  malicious  calumniator,  Conway,  and  the 
vindictive,  and  unprincipled  Charles  Lee,  their  object  was 
to  supersede  him,  and  elevate  Gates  upon  the  ruin  of  hi* 
reputation.  His  perplexities  were  greatly  increased,  by 
the  brief,  and  inadequate  periods  of  the  enlistment  ofhi* 


224  SKETCH   OF   CONNECTICUT, 

soldiers  ;  so  that  often,  on  the  eve  of  some  important  ac 
tion,  when  all  his  effective  strength  was  required,  his  army 
would  be  disbanding,  and  vanishing  like  a  shadow." 

"  The  wants  of  the  soldiers,"  said  Gen.  -  — ,  "  were 
also  to  him  a  source  of  continual  sorrow.  Ill-clothed,  ill- 
led,  and  scantily  provided  with  ammunition,  he  was  com 
pelled  to  struggle  with  his  pity,  and  enforce  that  rigid  dis 
cipline  and  subordination,  without  which  an  army  is  an 
unmixed  evil.  In  their  winter-quarters,  particularly  at 
Valley-Forge,  and  Morristown,  where,  through  the  crevi 
ces  of  the  miserable  log-huts  which  they  had  themselves 
constructed,  they  were  heard  complaining  for  food,  for 
want  of  wh'ch  their  half-naked,  emaciated  forms  were 
famishing  ;  when  the  traces  of  their  feet  upon  the  snow 
and  ice,  were  red  with  their  own  blood,  how  did  Washing 
ton  strive  to  relieve  their  comfortless  condition.  With 
what  fatherly  compassion  would  he  listen  to  their  com 
plaints  ;  yet  with  what  firmness  decree  justice  to  their 
offences.  How  would  he  sooth  them  into  patience,  while 
his  own  heart  was  bleeding.  Yet,  in  the  midst  of  his  sor 
rows,  with  what  dignity  and  serenity  of  soul,  would  he 
meet  the  darkest  vicissitudes,  and  be  prepared  for  the 
most  unforeseen  exigencies.  It  was  to  his  officers  a  source 
of  wonder,  as  well  as  of  admiration,  that  when  the  most 
important  transactions  were  committed  to  his  guidance, 
he  never  neglected  the  most  minute  attentions." 

"  I  have  been  surprised"  said  the  Lady  "  at  his 
power  of  uniting  calm  and  deliberative  wisdom,  with 
promptness  arfd  energy  of  execution.  I  have  supposed 


FORTY    YEARS   SINCE.  225 

that  the  structure  of  mind,  which  enables  a  man  to  phi 
losophize,  did  not  naturally  dispose  him  to  the  per 
formance  of  difficult  and  daring  deeds.  But  he,  whom 
Heaven  raised  up  for  its  own  great  purpose,  seemed  to 
combine,  without  contradiction,  opposing  qualities." 

"  I  shall  never  forget,"  said  Colonel  ,  "  that 

mixture  of  noble  feeling  with  urbanity,  with  which,  in  the 
early  stage  of  the  contest,  he  refused  to  treat  with  the 
commissioners  from  Lord  and  Admiral  Howe,  because 
they  studiously  avoided  the  acknowledgment  of  those 
titles,  which  the  independence  of  his  country  demanded. 
To  his  expanded  mind,  those  titles  were  less  than  nothing 
and  vanity.  But  he  would  not  dispense  with  the  respect, 
which  was  due  to  his  nation  through  her  representa 
tive.  How  firm  and  dignified  was  his  demeanour  when, 
in  the  winter  of  1776,  the  despondence  of  the  people  ap 
peared  in  every  imaginable  form,  when  the  enlistments  of 
his  insufficent  army  were  expiring  every  month,  and  they 
could  be  induced  neither  to  remain,  nor  to  contend.  How 
bright  was  the  glance  of  his  eye  when,  after  performing 
prodigies  of  valour  at  Monmouth,  and  enduring  without 
complaint  the  excessive  heat  of  that  terrible  day,  he  lay 
down  upon  the  earth  in  his  cloak  for  a  short  repose  that 
night,  expecting  to  renew  the  battle  ere  the  dawn  of  morn 
ing.  But  his  countenance  has,  at  no  period,  made  a  more 
indelible  impression  upon  my  mind,  than  at  the  passage 
of  the  Delaware;  when  by  a  brilliant  stratagem,  he  re 
vived  the  hopes  of  a  dejected  nation.  I  think  I  again  see 
the  banks  covered  with  snow,  as  they  were  during  the  in- 


226  SKETCH    OF    CONNECTICUT, 

tense  cold  of  that  Christmas  night.  Seated  upon  his  noble 
horse,  and  attended  by  General  Greene,  he  superintended 
the  hazardous  embarkation,  with  the  serenity  of  a  superi- 
our  being.  In  retracing  this  group,  the  athletic  form  and 
open  countenance  of  his  black  servant  Bill  always  recurs 
to  my  memory,  with  his  upturned  eye  fixed  affectionately 
upon  his  master,  as  if  he  were  the  arbiter  of  his  fate.  On  a 
slippery  and  steep  eminence  at  some  distance,Hhe  intrepid 
Knox  directed  the  passage  of  the  artillery.  His  steed 
seemed  to  tread  in  air,  and  he  displayed  the  same  firmness, 
with  which  he  continued  to  stand,  as  one  of  the  pillars  of 
the  temple  of  Liberty,  until  the  storm  which  rocked  her 
foundations  had  past.  The  soldiers  forced  the  horses,  with 
their  baggage,  down  the  slippery  banks,  and  the  slight 

boats,    in  which  they  encountered  the  masses  of  ice  borne 

down  by  the  river,  seemed  emblematical  of  the  strug 
gles  of  an  infant  nation  with  one,  whose  armour,  and  whose 
tone  threatened  destruction." 

Could   Colonel —  have  anticipated  the   events  of 

forty  years,  he  might  have  seen  the  magnificent  pencil  of 
Sully  forcibly  illustrating  his  own  description  of  the  me 
morable  "  Passage  of  the  Delaware." 

Madam  L ,  always  moved  by  the  praises  of  Wash* 

ington,  replied — 

"  Such  an  union  of  goodness  with  greatness,  of  deliber 
ative  wisdom  with  energy  of  execution,  of  attention  to  the 
most  minute  concerns  amid  the  transaction  of  the  greatest., 
rank  our  Washington,  not  only  among  the  first  of  heroes 
but  the  best  of  men." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"  Dark,  rugge  i  brows,  and  rigid  forms  enfold 
Warm,  grateful  hearts,  to  feeling  never  cold; 
Thus  the  rough  husk,  and  rind  impervious,  hide 
The  luscious  Cocoa,  with  its  milky  tide." 

SPRING,  with  her  varying  charms,  was  now  every  day 
dispensing  some  new  gift  to  the  earth.     The  tardiness  of 
fher  first  advance  was  compensated  by  the  rapidity  with 
which  she  changed  eveiy  thing  subject  to  her  influence  ; 
as  a  timid  child,  ripening  into  the  loveliness  of  woman 
hood,  glides  gracefully  through  those  paths,  which  her 
feet  at  first  trembled  to  approach.     The  period  was  arriv 
ing,  when  the  two  most  delightful  seasons  of  the  year 
stand,  as  it  were,  on  each  other's  boundary,  blend  their 
unfinish'd  work,  dip  their  pencils  in  each  other's  dies,  and 
like  the  rival  goddesses,  contend  before  the  sons  of  earth 
for  the  palm  of  beauty.     Even  the  rude  settlement  of  the 
children  of  the  forest  put  on  its  beautiful  garments.  They, 
whom  their  more  fortunate  brethren  scarcely  admitted 
within  the  scale  of  humanity,  were  not  shut  out  by  pity 
ing  nature  from  her  smiles,  or  her  exuberance.     Through 
the  rich  green  velvet  of  her  fields,  the  pure  fountains  look 
ed  up  with  chrystal  eyes,  in  silent  joy.    Bolder  streams 
murmured  over  rocky  beds,  occasionally  falling  in  cas 
cades,  like  a  restless  spirit  afflicted  with  the  turmoils,  and 
tossings  of  the  world.  Wild  flowers  expanded  their  petals, 


228  SKETCH    OF    CONNECTICUT, 

trees  their  blossoms,  birds  filled  their  retreats  with  harmo 
ny,  or  soaring  high,  poured  louder  tones  of  transport,  until 
it  seemed  that  every  thicket,  and  every  wave  of  air  uttered 
the  strain,  "  Thou  makest  the  outgoings  of  the  morning, 
and  of  the  evening  to  rejoice." 

The  abode  of  old  Zachary  and  Martha  felt  the  influence 
of  this  enlivening  season.     Already  their  aromatic  herbs 
yielded  a  pure  essence  to  the  husy  inhabitants  of  the  hives, 
and  their  cow  cropped  with  delight  the  juicy  food  of  her 
little  pasture.     A  rose-bush  near  their  door  displayed  its 
swelling  buds,  and  the  woodbine  protruded  its  young  ten 
drils,  to  reach  the  window  of  the  invalid.     But  within  the 
walls,  was  Age  which  knew  no  spring,  and  Youth,  fading- 
like  a  blasted  flower  ;  night  that  could  know  no  dawning, 
and  a  morn  that  must  never  ascend  to  noon.    The  day  had 
closed  over  the    inhabitants  of  that  peaceful  habitation. 
The  old  warriour,  and  his  wife  were  seated  in  the  room 
appropriated  to  their  mysterious  guest.     Reclining  in  a 
chair,  which  the  ingenuity  of  Zachary  had  so  constructed 
as  to  answer  the  purposes  of  both  seat  and  couch,  and  wrap, 
ped  in  a  loose  dress  of  light  calico,  she  watched  the  rising 
of  the  full,  round,  silver  moon,  like  one   who  loves  its 
beams,  yet  feels  that  he  must  soon  bid  it  a  returnless  fare 
well.     The  bright,  brown  locks  of  that  beautiful  being, 
twined  in  braids  around  a  head  of  perfect  symmetry,  and 
falling  in  profuse  curls  over  her  brow,  formed  a  strong 
contrast  to  the  snow  of  her  cheek,  and  seemed  to  deepen 
the  hue  of  her  soft,  blue  eye.  But  the  snows  of  her  cheek 


FORTY   YEARS   SINCE.  229 

were  now  tinted  with  that  ominous  flush,  whose  brief 
loveliness  Death  lends,  as  a  signal  of  his  approaching  tri 
umph.  Sometimes,  it  gave  to  her  eye  a  ray  of  such  un 
earthly  brightness,  that  the  tender-hearted  Martha  could 
not  gaze  on  it  without  a  tear.  She  had  remarked  with 
grief  to  her  husband,  that  the  form  of  the  uncomplaining 
victim  was  becoming  rapidly  emaciated,  and  respiration 
feeble  and  laborious,  and  that  all  her  culinary  arts  were 
exerted  in  vain  to  stimulate  appetite.  The  invalid  gazed 
^ng  at  the  moon,  with  her  forehead  resting  on  a  hand  of 
purest  whiteness,  which,  partially  shaded  by  the  rich  curls 
that  hung  over  it,  seemed  to  display  the  flexile  fingers  of 
childhood.  Turning  her  eyes  from  the  beautiful  orb,  she 
observed  those  of  the  aged  couple  bent  upon  her  with  in 
tense  earnestness.  A  long  pause  ensued.  Something,  that 
refused  utterance,  seemed  to  agitate  her.  But  they,  mark 
ing  the  emotion  which  varied  a  countenance  usually  so 
serene  and  passionless,  forebore  to  break  the  silence  lest 
they  should  interrupt  her  musings,  and  dreaded  to  hear  her 
ipeak,  lest  it  should  be  of  separation.  At  length,  a  voice 
tremulous,  and  musical  as  the  tones  of  a  broken  harp,  was 
heard  to  say — 

"  Father  !  you  may  recollect  hearing  me  mention  that 

I  was  educated  a  child  of  the  Church  of  England.     I  love 

her   sacred   services,  though    I  have  long  been  divided 

.  from  them.    A  clergyman  of   that  order  lives  within  a 

few  miles  of  us.    I  feel  a  desire  to  see  him,  and  once 


20 


230  SKETCH    OF    CONNECTICUT, 

more  to  partake  of  the  holy   Sacrament.     Will  you  bear 
my  request  to  him,  Father  ?" 

"  The  feet  of  Zachary  shall  travel  any  where  for  the 
comfort  of  his  daughter,"  said  the  old  warriour,  rising  to 
receive  a  letter  which  she  held  towards  him. 

"  1  knew  it  would  be  necessary  to  give  some  explana 
tion  of  my  birth  and  education,  before  I  could  expect  the 
favour  which  rny  heart  desires.  You  see  now,  Father, 
why  I  requested  you  to  procure  a  few  sheets  of  paper 
from  the  town.  I  have  written  in  few  words,  for  my  hand 
is  weak.  Perhaps  I  may  yet  intrust  to  the  man  of  God 
all  my  history,  if  I  shall  be  strengthened  to  record  it.'* 
Pausing,  she  added,  "  But  it  must  not  meet  his  eye,  till 
mine  is  closed." 

Martha  rose,  with  that  undefinable  sensation  which  moves 
us  to  shrink  from  any  subject  by  which  our  feelings  are 
agonized,  and  throwing  up  the  casement  for  a  moment, 
through  which  the  soft,  humid  air  of  Spring  breathed* 
said — 

"  Have  you  seen,  Oriana,  how  your  woodbine  grows  ? 
Soon  it  will  be  raising  up  its  young  blossoms  to  look  ;/l 
you,  through  the  window." 

"  It  will  remind  you  of  me,  kind  Mother,"  she  said, 
""  and  may  its  fragrance  be  soothing  to  you,  even  as  your 
tenderness  has  been  to  the  lonely,  and  withering  heart." 

Again  there  was  silence,  and  then  the  aged  man,  raising 
his  head  from  his  bosom  where  it  had  declined,  spake  i» 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  231 

a  voice  which,  as  he  proceeded,  grew  more  calm,  and 
distinct. 

"  Daughter!  I  understand  thee.  It  is  vain  that  we 
strive  to  conceal  from  each  other  a  truth,  with  which  we 
are  all  acquainted.  I  am  glad  that  thou  hast  spoken  thy 
mind  to  us.  Yet  is  my  soul  at  this  moment  weak  as  that 
of  an  infant,  though  in  battle  no  eye  hath  seen  me  turn  to 
shun  the  death,  which  I  dealt  to  others.  My  daughter  ! 
Zachary  could  lie  down  in  his  grave,  and  not  tremble. 
Yet  his  heart  is  soft,  when  he  sees  one  so  young,  and  beau 
tiful,  falling  like  the  green  leaf  before  the  blast.  Zacha 
ry  is  old,  but  his  mind  is  selfish.  He  had  desired  to  look 
on  thy  brow,  during  the  short  space  that  he  hath  yet  to 
measure.  He  hath  prayed  the  Eternal,  that  his  ears  might 
continue  to  hear  thy  voice  ;  for  it  was  sweet  to  them. 
His  heart  wished  to  have  something  to  love,  which  should 
not  be  as  himself,  every  day  decaying  like  the  tree  strip 
ped  of  its  branches,  and  mouldering  at  the  root.  But 
he  must  humble  his  heart.  Thou  haft  toJd  him  that  God 
giveth  grace  unto  the  humble.  Thou  hast  read  unto 
him,  from  thine  holy  book,  till  he  has  bowed  in  peni 
tence,  and  sought  with  tears  in  the  silent  midnight  for 
salvation  through  Christ.  What  shall  he,  and  Martha 
do,  when  thou  art  taken  from  them  ?  Who  will  have 
patience  with  their  ignorance,  as  thou  hast  done  -;  Who 
will  kindly  teach  them  the  true  way  of  life  ?  Ask  1  what 
we  shall  do,  as  if  we  had  yet  au  hundred  years  to  dwel) 


232  SKETCH   OF  CONNECTICUT, 

on  earth  ?     We  shall  soon  sleep  in  that  grave,  to  which 
thou  art  hastening." 

"  Whither  I  go,  ye  know,"  answered  the  same  sweet, 
solemn  voice,  "  and  the  way  ye  know.  Hope  in  Him 
whom  ye  have  believed.  Like  me,  ye  must  soon  slum 
ber  in  the  dust ;  but  His  power  shall  raise  ye  up  at  the 
last  day.  The  Eternal,  in  whose  sight  shades  of  complex 
ion,  and  distinctions  of  rank  are  as  nothing.  He  who  look- 
eth  only  upon  the  heart,  bless  you  for  your  love  to  the 
outcast,  and  lead  you  to  that  abode,  where  all  which  is  be 
nevolent,  and  pure  shall  be  gathered,  and  sundered  no 
more." 

She  then  laid  her  hand  on  her  Prayer-book,  which  with 
a  small  bible  was  always  near  her  on  the  table,  arid  Mar* 
tha  rose  to  light  the  lamp,  which  had  hitherto  been  neg 
lected. 

"  It  is  in  vain,  Mother !"  she  said  "  with  a  lamb-like 
smile.  "I  am  too  much  exhausted  to  say  with  you  my 
evening  prayer.  Pray  for  yourselves,  and  for  me,  that  we 
may  meet  where  is  no  infirmity  or  pain,  and  where  sorrow 
fleeteth  away." 

Then,  as  if  regretting  that  the  night  should  draw  over 
them  without  their  accustomed  devotions,  looking  upward 
she  repeated  with  deep  pathos,  a   few  verses  from  th« 
fourt-ieiith  of  John. 

**  Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled.  Ye  believe  in  Gods 
believe  also  in  me.  In  my  Father's  house  are  many  man 
sions,"  &c. 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  233 

The  old  warriour  rising  to  take  his  leave  for  the  night, 
held  his  hands  over  her  head,  and  pronounced  in  deep  tones 
the  blessing  of  his  nation.  This  he  retained  probably 
from  early  associations,  though  he  was  now  the  disciple 
of  a  better  faith. 

"  The  Great  Spirit,  who  dwelleth  where  the  Sun  hideth 
himself,  and  where  the  tempest  is  born,  guide  thee  with 
strength.  He  who  maketh  the  earth  fruitful,  and  the  sky 
bright,  and  the  heart  of  man  glad,  smile  on  thee,  and  give 
thee  rest." 

Martha  remained  to  render  some  attentions  to  the  suffer 
er.  She  removed  her  gently  from  her  reposing  seat  to 
the  bed,  gave  her  an  infusion  which  was  useful  to  repel  in* 
(lamination,  and  quiet  restlesness.  But  she  dared  not  trust 
her  voice  beyond  a  whisper,  lest  it  should  yield  wholly 
to  her  emotion.  After  her  services  were  completed,  she 
lingered,  as  if  unwilling  to  leave  the  pillow  of  the  sufferer. 

"'  Mother  !"  said  the  broken  voice,  "  kind,  tender  moth 
er,  go  to  thy  rest.  Oriana  hath  now  no  pain.  Sleep  will 
descend  upon  her.  She  will  not  leave  thee  this  night. 
But  soon  she  must  begin  her  journey  to  the  land  of  souls. 
What  then  ?  She  hath  hope  in  her  death,  to  pass  from  dark 
ness  to  eternal  sunshine.  Weep  not,  mother !  but  lift 
your  heart  to  the  Father  of  consolation.  I  believe  that 
whither  I  go,  thou  shalt  come  also.  I  shall  return  no 
more  ;  but  thou  and  thy  beloved  shall  come  unto  me. 
There  will  be  scarcely  time  to  mourn,  ere,  like  the  glid 
ing  of  a  shadow,  the  parents  shall  follow  their  child." 
20* 


234  SKETCH    OF    CONNECTICUT, 

A  celestial  smile  was  upon  her  brow,  which  would  have 
cheered  the  grief  of  the  aged  woman,  but  for  the  reflec- 
tion  she  must  so  soon  behold  it  no  more.  So  strongly  did 
her  affectionate  heart  cling  to  this  cherished  object,  thai 
sorrow  shuddered  at  the  thought  that  the  beautiful  taber 
nacle  must  be  dissolved,  even  while  Faith  shadowed  forth 
the  joy  of  the  liberated  spirit. 

The  first  rays  of  the  sun  found  Zachary  on  the  way  to 
the  clergyman  whom  .Oriana  had  designated.  He  paused 
not  on  his  weary  journey.  Travellers  who  passed  him, 
had  they  thought  it  fitting  to  bestow  so  much  attention  on 
an  Indian,  might  have  perceived  that  tears  occasionally 
rolled  over  the  furrows  of  his  cheek,  or  hung  upon  his  eye 
lashes,  which  like  a  fringe  of  silver,  resembled  in  colour 
the  few  hairs  which  were  scattered  upon  his  temples. 

41  Zachary's  heart  is  proud,"  he  would  say,  in  com 
muning  with  himself.  "  The  good  prophet,  when  the  de 
sire  of  his  eyes  was  removed  with  a  stroke,  wept  not, 
neither  made  lamentation.  It  was  so,  for  she  read  it  to 
me.  She,  who  will  SOOD  open  her  blessed  bible  no  more. 
And  Martha,  she  will  grieve  more  than  Zachary,  for  her 
heart  is  weaker.  Be  strong,  old  warriour,  that  thou  may- 
est  comfort  the  woman.  Thou,  whose  heart  did  never 
shrink  in  battle,  what  aileth  thee,  that  it  is  now  dissolved  ? 
Thou  art  old,  Zachary,  and  thy  hairs  are  like  snow  ; 
wherefore  shouldst  thou  mourn  any  more,  for  what  the 
world  taketh  away  ?"  Gathering  strength  from  these  me 
ditations,  his  step  became  firm,  and  his  head  erect,  as  he 


FORTY    YEARS   SINCE.  S 

reached  the  southern  part  of  the  town,  where  the  clergy 
man  resided.  Presenting  the  letter,  the  reverend  man 
perused  it,  and  said  with  affectionate  feeling — 

"  My  brother,  I  will  come  to-morrow  to  your  house." 
The  afternoon  of  the  succeeding  day,  the  clergyman 
was  seen  fastening  his  horse  to  the  fence  that  enclosed  the 
garden  of  Zachary,  He  approached  with  the  slow  step, 
and  benevolent  countenance,  which  were  indicative  of  his 
character.  Firmness  in  the  truth,  and  mildness  in  the  ex 
pression  of  it  distinguished  his  conversation  among  men. 
Filial  trust  in  his  God  taught  him  to  consider  all  as  breth 
ren,  and  no  hand  raised  the  bruised  reed  more  ten 
derly  than  his.  When  a  child,  the  amusements  of  that 
giddy  period  had  no  charms  for  him,  in  comparison  with 
those  studies  which  nourish  intellect.  Thirteen  sum 
mers  had  not  past  over  him  ere  he  made  his  election  in 
favour  of  that  Church  to  which  he  faithfully  devoted  the 
remainder  of  his  life.  So  uninfluenced  was  this  determi 
nation,  that  his  parents  and  friends,  who  belonged  to  a 
different  sect,  were  ignorant  of  the  arguments  by  which 
his  belief  was  fortified  until  he  adduced  them  as  a  reason 
of  "the  hope  that  was  in  him."  After  spending  his 
youth  in  collegiate  studies,  he  found  that  the  sect  to  which 
he  had  devoted  himself  was  so  far  from  enjoying  popu 
larity,  that  not  a  single  person  existed  in  this  country,  to 
administer  to  him  the  vows  of  ordination.  He  crossed  the 
Atlantic,  and  received  holy  orders  from  the  Bishop  of 
London,  in  1768.  From  that  period  he  had  been  con- 


236  SKETCH   OF    CONNECTICUT. 

nected  with  the  parish  in  which  he  now  resided  ;  and  his 
attachment  to  the  flock,  and  to  the  faith  which  he  had 
taught  it,  was  among  the  warmest  affections  of  his  heart. 
During  the  reign  of  those  strong  passions  which  our  revo 
lutionary  struggle  excited,  the  single  circumstance  of  his 
adherence  to  the  Church  of  England  created  him  ene 
mies  among  the  more  violent  partizans,  both  political  and 
puritanical.  His  amiable  virtues,  and  pious  life  were  as 
dust  in  the  balance  which  the  hand  of  enmity  poised.  For 
three  years  the  doors  of  his  church  were  closed  ;  but.  from 
house  to  house,  he  broke  the  bread  of  life  to  his  little 
flock,  exhorting  them  to  submit  to  "  principalities  and 
powers."  In  this  day  of  darkness,  he  was  pressed  to  re 
ceive  a  lucrative  clerical  establishment  in  England;  but 
he  chose  to  adhere  to  the  little  community  which  he  had 
planted,  through  "  evil  report  and  good  report."  Now 
the  rage  of  contest  had  subsided,  and  he  again  led  his  be 
loved  followers  to  the  sanctuary  to  pay  their  stated  ser 
vices  to  the  God  of  peace  and  consolation.  When,  on  the 
first  Sunday  after  their  exile,  they  convened  in  their  con 
secrated  temple,  such  was  the  saintly  expression  of  his 
countenance,  and  such  the  effect  of  his  remarkably  melo 
dious  voice,  as  he  uttered  "  From  the  rising  of  the  sun, 
even  unto  the  going  down  of  the  same,  rny  name  shall  be 
great  among  the  Gentiles,  and  in  every  place  incense  shall 
be  offered  unto  my  name,  and  a  pure  offering,"  and  such 
were  the  recollections,  tender,  melancholy,  and  soothing, 
which  arose  at  .the  appearance  of  their  venerated  pastor 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  137 

again  in  his  much  loved  pulpit,  that  a  burst  of  tears  min 
gled  with  their  devotions,  and  sobs  ascended  with  their 
praises. 

Such  was  the  man  who,  like  a  shepherd  seeking  his 
sheep  in  remote  places,  now  entered  the  abode  of  Zach- 
ary  and  Martha.  He  received  their  respectful  saluta 
tions  with  that  smile  for  which  he  was  distinguished — a 
smile  which  seemed  the  irradiation  of  a  spirit,  whose 
light  was  not  kindled  beneath  the  stars.  He  appeared 
/struck  with  the  exceeding  beauty  of  the  stranger  ;  and, 
comparing  it  with  the  rude  apartment,  and  the  o!ark  faces 
of  her  aged  attendants,  he  could  scarcely  forbear  ex 
claiming,  "  verily  we  have  this  treasure  in  earthern  ves 
sels,  but  the  excellency  of  the  power  is  of  God,  and  not 
of  man."  After  a  conversation  of  considerable  length 
with  the  invalid,  during  which  he  became  fully  satisfied  of 
her  religious  education,  correct  belief,  and  happy  spirit 
ual  state,  he  prepared  to  administer  to  her  that  most  holy 
rite  which  her  soul  desired.  Exhausted  by  the  efforts  of 
discourse,  and  by  the  warmth  of  her  gratitude  for  the  ap 
proaching  privilege,  she  laid  herself  on  her  couch,  as  a 
pale  iilly  surcharged  with  dew  reclines  its  head  upon  the 
stalk.  Zachary  and  Martha  rose  to  depart. 

*'  These  are  Christians,"  Oriana  remarked,  "  in  heart 
and  in  life.  They  have  been  baptized  many  years  since, 
by  Mr.  Occom,  their  departed  minister.  I  can  bear  wit 
ness  that  they  know,  and  love  the  truth.  May  they  not 
partake  with  us,  to  the  edification  of  their  souls  ?" 


.238  SKETCH   OF   CONNECTICUT, 

The  clergyman,  regarding  them  steadfastly,  but  kindly, 
inquired — 

"  Are  ye  in  perfect  charity  with  all  men  ?" 

Bowing  himself  down,  the  old  warriour  replied  solemn- 
ly- 

"  We  are.  Your  religion  has  taught  even  us  Indians,  to 
forgive  our  enemies." 

"  Approach  then,"  said  the  minister  of  Heaven,  "  ap 
proach,  ye  who  do  truly,  and  earnestly  repent  you  of  your 
sins,  and  are  in  love  and  charity  with  your  neighbours,  and 
intend  to  lead  anew  life,  following  the  commandments  of 
God." 

They  kneeled  by  the  bed  of  the  sufferer.  Often  did 
the  tears  roll  in  tides  over  the  face  of  old  Martha,  and  the 
strong  frame  of  the  warriour  tremble  with  emotion,  as 
that  voice  so  deep-ton'd,  so  sweet,  so  solemn  poured,  in 
its  varying  modulation,  the  sublime  language  of  the  most 
holy  office  of  religion,  through  the  breathless  silence  of 
their  abode.  But  she,  who,  reduced  to  the  weakness  of 
infancy,  might  have  been  supposed  to  be  the  most  agitat 
ed,  was  as  calm  and  unmoved  as  the  lake,  on  which  shines 
nothing  but  the  beam  of  heaven.  Raised  above  every 
cause  of  earthiy  excitement,  she  seemed  to  have  a  fore 
taste  of  the  happy  consummation  that  awaited  her.  And, 
when  the  clergyman,  with  uplifted  "eyes,  pronounced  the 
''  Gloria  in  excelsis,"  a  voice  of  such  thrilling,  exquisite 
melody  warbled  from  the  couch,  "  GJory  to  God  in  the 
highest,  and  ©n  earth  peace,  good  will  toward  men.'" 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  239 

that  in  the  devotion  of  that  moment  one  might  have  fanci 
ed  that  the  harp  of  angels,  was  once  more  pouring  the  ad 
vent  melody  over  the  vallies  of  Bethlehem.  The  heart 
of  the  good  man  was  touched,  and  a  tear  starting  to  his 
mild  eye,  attested  the  accordance  of  his  soul  with  the 
sympathies  of  the  scene.  His  voice  faltered  as  he  utter 
ed  the  benediction,  to  which  the  aged  warriour,  bowing 
his  face  to  the  earth,  pronounced  distinctly,  Amen. 

A  pause  of  several  minutes  ensued  after  this  holy  ordi- 
jiance.  Each  seemed  fearful  of  interrupting  the  medita 
tion  of  another  ;  and  all  felt  as  if  a  human  voice  would  be 
almost  profanation  amidst  the  heavenly  calmness  which 
had  descended  upon  them.  Every  Christian,  who  has 
participated  with  sincere,  and  elevated  devotion  in  this 
sacred  banquet,  must  have  been  sensible  how  empty,  and 
even  painful  are  the  first  approaches  of  worldly  conversa 
tion  to  the  sublimated  spirit.  Like  Moses,  admitted  to 
the  mysterious  mountain,  she  dreads  too  suddenly  to  min 
gle  with  the  multitude  at  its  base  ;  happy  if,  like  him,  she 
may  illumine  the  brow  with  celestial  brightness,  as  a  wit 
ness  of  her  communion  with  the  Eternal. 

The  clergyman  at  length  broke  the  silence  by  inquiring, 
with  his  native  benevolence,  if  there  were  not  some  article 
of  comfort  which  might  alleviate  her  sufferings,  and  which 
she  would  permit  him  to  procure  ;  or  if  she  would  not 
wish  to  consult  a  physician  on  the  nature  of  her  dis 
ease. 

"  I  desire  nothing,"  she  added,  "  but  what  the  care  of 
these  kind  beings  provide  for  me.  Their  knowledge  of 


'*48  SKETCH    OF    CONNECTICUT, 

medicine  is  considerable,  and  they  prepare  with  skill  as- 
suasive  and  soothing  remedies,  drawn  from  the  bosom  oi 
that  earth  to  which  I  am  returning.  With  the  nature  of 
my  disease  I  am  acquainted.  I  saw  all  its  variations  in 
my  mother,  for  whom  the  utmost  exertions  of  profes 
sional  skill  availed  nothing.  1  feel  upon  my  heart  a  cold 
hand,  and  where  it  will  lead  me,  I  know.  You,  reverend 
Father,  can  give  me  all  that  my  brief  earthly  pilgrimage 
requires.  You  can  speak  to  me  of  the  hope  of  Heaven, 
when  my  ear  is  closed  to  the  sound  of  other  voices  ;  and. 
when  my  eye  grows  dim  in  death,  it  will  brighten  to  be 
hold,  and  bless  you." 

Pressing  her  hand,  the  servant  of  peace  and  consolation 
took  his  leave,  promising  frequently  to  visit  her,  and  en 
treating  her  to  rely  upon  his  friendship.  Zachary  and 
Martha  followed  him.  Even  the  skirts  of  his  garment 
were  dear  to  them,  since  he  had  imparted  comfort  to  their 
beloved  one.  Shaking  hands  with  each,  as  he  mounted 
his  horse,  he  said,  "  I  see  that  she  will  not  long  tarry  with 
you.  She  is  ready  to  commune  with  angels,  and  hasten  to 
join  them.  What  a  privilege  have  you  enjoyed  in  her  in 
structions  !  Pray  that  ye  may  tread  in  her  steps."  They 
stood  gazing  at  him,  till  his  form  faded  in  distance,  and 
the  warriour,  whose  retentive  memory  was  stored  with  ma 
ny  passages  of  scripture,  gathered  from  the  daily  readings 
of  Oriana,  repeated  as  he  returned  to  her — **  How  beau 
tiful  upon  the  mountains  are  the  feet  of  the  messenger, 
that  hringeth  good  tidings,  that  publisheth  peace,  that 
saith  unto  Zion,  thy  God  reignetb." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

«'  Death's  final  pang,  like  the  last  paroxysm 
Of  some  dire  dream,  waking  the  pious  soul 
To  life  and  transport,  makes  amends  at  once 
For  all  past  suffering,  in  a  moment  all 
Forgotten,  in  that  plenitude  of  joy." 

Age,  of  Benevolence 

THREE  weeks  had  elapsed  since  the  first  interview  of 
tlie  good  clergyman  with  Oriana,  during  which  period  he 
had  frequently  seen  her.    He  was  one  who  found  leisure 
both  for  duties,  and  for  pleasures,  because  he  systemati 
cally  divided  his  time  ;  and  in  his  duties,  his  pleasures 
lay.    Complaints  of  the  toil  which  his  profession!  impos 
ed,  of  the  drudgery  of  writing  sermons,  and  the  labour  of 
instructing  the  young,  were  never  heard  from  him  ;  for 
he  loved  to  be  about  his  Master's  business.    Content  with 
a  stipend,  which  the  effeminacy  of  modern  times  would 
pronounce  insufficient  for  the  necessaries  of  life,  he  taught 
his  family  by  example  the  art  of  cheerfully  sustaining 
privations,  and  of  sacrificing  their  own  wishes  to  the  good 
of  others.     He  never  studied  to  disjoin  self-denial  from 
benevolence  ;  and  his  conduct,  and  even  his  countenance 
was  an  illustration  of  the  inspired  direction,  respecting 
the  sons  of  Levi — "  Ye  shall  give  them  no  possession  in 
Israel,  I  am  their  possession  :  ye  shall  mete  out  to  them 
no  inheritance,  I  am  their  inheritance."    In  his  intercourse 
21 


242  SKETCH    OF    CONNECTICUT, 

with  Oriana,  his  spiritual  consolations  were  ever  mingled 
with  solicitude  for  her  earthly  comfort.  His  wife,  to 
whom  he  had  communicated  what  he  knew  of  the  inter 
esting  invalid,  continually  sent  by  him  cordials,  and  little 
delicacies,  which  it  was  her  pleasure  to  prepare  for  the 
sick.  His  little  children,  moved  by  kindness  at  once 
hereditary,  and  impressed  by  education,  would  add,  what 
she  always  received  with  peculiar  gratitude,  a  bouquet  oi 
the  flowers,  which  their  own  hands  had  cultivated.  He 
had  occasionally  proposed  to  Oriana  a  removal  to  his 
residence,  hoping  that  a  change  of  habitation  might  be 
beneficial  to  her  health.  But  the  idea  was  painful  to  her. 
She  could  not  think  of  parting  from  those,  who  had  cher 
ished  her  with  such  undivided  tenderness,  and  whose 
happiness  had  become  interwoven  with  her  presence. 
Thanking  him  for  his  fatherly  solicitude,  she  would  say — 
"  The  pomp  and  circumstance  of  life,  to  one  about  to 
leave  it,  reveal  their  own  emptiness.  To  have  our  neces 
sities  ministered  unto  by  hands  which  are  never  weary, 
our  pains  mitigated  by  hearts  which  are  never  cold,  is  all 
which  a  disease  fatal  like  mine  can  ask.  Fear  not  that -I 
am  entirely  burdensome  to  their  poverty.  My  small  stock 
is  not  yet  expended,  nor  will  it  be  until  my  animal  wants 
are  at  an  end.  Yet  more  than  the  perishable  part  is  pro 
vided  for.  Your  prayers,  your  instructions,  Father, 
strengthen  my  soul  for  her  approaching  flight.  More  than 
contented,  grateful,  and  happy,  she  waiteth  till  her  change 
come.  Sometimes,  while  I  lie  sleepless,  yet  composed 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  243 

thoughts  so  serene  pass  over  me,  that  I  almost  think  1 
hear  the  voice  of  my  Redeemer,  saying  through  jtht 
silence  of  midnight,  "  when  I  sent  ye  forth  without  purse, 
or  scrip,  lacked  ye  any  thing  ?  and  I  answer,  nothing 
Lord." 

The  gentle  sufferer  requested  of  her  spiritual  guide, 
that  her  history  might  not  be  mentioned  among  his  ac 
quaintance.  Visits  of  curiosity,  she  remarked,  would  only 
interrupt  the  short  space  allotted  her,  which  she  wished  to 
pmploy  in  preparations  for  her  departure  ;  and  those  oi 
charity  were  unnecessary  to  a  being,  whose  ties  to  the 
world  were  so  broken  that  her  dependence  upon  it  wa? 
annihilated. 

"  It  can  now  give  me  nothing,"  she  said,  "  but  it  may 
ake  something  away." 

He  perceived  that  she  wished  to  detach  her  mind  fron- 
surrounding  objects,  arid  cultivate  a  deep  acquaintance 
with  her  heart ;  as  Cosmo  de  Medici,  in  his  last  sickness, 
closed  bis  eyes  that  he  might  see  more  clearly.  Ih 
could  understand  &  desire,  which  some  would  be  in  dan 
ger  of  mistaking  for  affectation,  or  perverseness,  or  enthu 
siasm.  He  could  sympathize  in  the  aspirations  of  a  soul, 
desiring  to  be.  alone  with  its  God.  He  prevailed  on  her. 
however,  to  admit  the  attentions  of  a  physician,  who  came, 
and  inquired  minutely  into  the  progress  of  her  disease, 
and  the  mode  of  treatment  to  which  it  had  been  subject 
ed.  He  approved  the  light  nutriment  of  milk,  and  fruits, 
which  she  had  adopted,  examined  the  herbs,  and  plants; 


£4  SKETCH    OF    CONNECTICUT . 

whose  infusions  she  had  used,  and  seemed  surprized  at 
the*r  judicious  adaptation  to  the  different  stages  of  her 
malady.  The  knowledge  professed  by  our  natives  of  the 
virtues  of  medicinal  plants  was  not  at  that  period  under 
stood.  Barton  had  not  then  given  the  world  his  research 
es,  or  enriched  our  Pharmacopoeia  with  the  discoveries' 
of  the  children  of  the  forest. 

The  physician  recommended  the  continuance  of  the  re 
gimen  which  had  been  pursued,  prescribing-  only  some 
simple  additions  ;  and,  on  his  return,  told  his  reverend 
companion  that  the  case  of  the  invalid  was  beyond  the 
reach  of  medicine. 

"  She  probably  has  derived  from  her  parents  the  poison 
which  feeds  on  her  vitals.  Nature  cannot  long  cope  with 
an  enemy,  who  has  already  entered  her  citadel.  But,  ii* 
I  mistake  not,  there  will  be  no  struggle  of  the  soul,  when 
its  tabernacle  is  dissolved." 

"  No,"  answered  his  friend,  "  she  has  long  been  con 
vinced,  that  to  depart,  and  to  be  with  Christ  is  far  better. 
It  would  seem  as  if  this  must  always  be  the  effect  of  mor 
tal  disease  upon  the  Christian.  Yet  such  is  the  weakness 
of  faith,  such  the  infirmity  of  man  at  his  best  estate,  that 
sometimes  fear  predominates  most,  when  hope  is  about  to 
be  changed  into  glory.  I  have  supposed  that  your  pro 
fession,  which  familiarizes  man  at  once  with  the  mystery 
of  his  own  construction,  and  the  indefinite  varieties  of  suf 
fering  to  which  it  is  liable,  would  have  a  strong  affinity 
with  that  piety,  which  points  the  mortal  part  to  its  $a 


FOKTV    YEAKS    SltfCL*  246 

ker,  and  the  immortairto  its  home.  Why  is  it  then  that, 
among  our  many  healers  of  the  body,  we  find  so  few 
qualified  .to  act  as  physicians  to  the  soul  ?" 

The  disciple  of  Esculapius,  who  was  also  a  follower  of 
Christ,  replied — 

'  Whoever  penetrates  into  the  secret  springs  of  his 
frame,  must  be  constrained  to  acknowledge  that  he  is 
;  tearfully  and  wonderfully  made."  Anatomy,  like  As- 
vronomy,  points  the  eye  to  an  infinite  Architect.  But  sim- 
nly  to  acknowledge  the  existence  of  a  God  is  far  from  being 
the  Whole  of  Christianity.  Thus  far  the  devils  believe, 
while  they  tremble.  You  have  thought,  Sir,  that  a  con 
stant  view  of  the  pains}  and  infirmities  of  our  race  ought 
to  awaken  piety.  Thus  the  most  eloquent  apostle  assert 
ed,  that  the  goodness  of  God  ought  to  lead  men  to  repent 
ance.  But  the  perverseness,  which  in  one  case  produces 
ingratitude,  in  the  other  generates  pride.  He  boasts  that 
his  science  can  arrest  the  ravages  of  disease,  and  tear  the 
victory  from  death.  So  that  "Him,  in  whose  hand  is  his 
breath,  hath  he  not  glorified."  Besides,  our  familiarity 
with  all  the  modifications  of  distress  blunts  that  sensibili 
ty,  through  which  alone  it  can  convey  a  lesson  to  the  heart. 
Our  danger  is  of  materialism,  of  resting  in  natural  reli 
gion,  or  of  elevating  the  pride  of  science  into  the  place 
of  God.  From  all  these  His  Spirit  can  deliver  us." 

This  excellent  man,  who  happily  blended  piety  with 
professional  skill,  resided  in  the  northern  part  of  the  town, 
and  was  the  writer  of  that  epitaph  on  a  son  of  the  depart- 
21* 


24tJ  3KETCH   OF    CONNECTICUT, 

ed  royalty  of  Mohegan,  which  appeared  at'  the  close  of 
the  third  chapter.     His  memory  is  still  revered,  and  the 
celebrity  which  he  acquired  in  the  science  of  medicine, 
is  still  enjoyed  by  his  descendants.     Soon  after  the  con» 
versation  which  has  been  related,  he  stopped  on  a  visit  of 
charity,  to  which  he  was  so  much  accustomed,  that  it  was, 
said  his  horse  turned  involuntarily  towards  the  abodes  of 
poverty.    The  divine,  thanking  him  for  his  attention  to  the 
mysterious  invalid,  pursued  his  homeward  journey. 
.  Exhausted  in  body,  but  confirmed  in  faith,  Oriana  wait 
ed  her  dissolution.     Such  was  the  wasting  of  her  frame, 
that  she  seemed  reduced  to  a  spiritual  essence,  trembling, 
and  ready  to  be  exhaled.    Every  pure  morning,  she  de 
sired  the  casement  to  be  thrown  open,  that  the  fresh  air 
might  visit  her.     But  at  length,  this  from  an  occasional 
gratification  became  an  object  of  frequent  necessity,  to  aid 
laborious  respiration.     The  couch,  which  she  had  been 
resolctte  in  leaving  while  her  strength  permitted,  was  now 
her  constant  refuge.     The  febrile  symptoms  of  that  terri 
ble  disease,  which  delights  to  prey  on  the  most  fair  and 
excellent,  gradually  disappeared  ;  but  debility  increased 
to  an  almost  insupportable  degree.     Smiles  now  constant 
ly  sat  upon  her  face,  and  seemed  to  indicate  that  the  bit 
terness  of  death  had  already  passed.     The  irritation  of 
pain,  which  had  marked  her  features,  subsided  into  a  tran 
quil  loveliness,  which  sometimes  brightened  into  joy,  as 
one  who  felt  that "  redemption  draweth  nigh."  One  night, 
sleep  had  not  visited  her  eyes  >  for,  whenever  her  sense 


FORTY   YEARS  SINCE,  24tf 

began  to  be  lulled  into  transient  repose,  the  spirit  in  its 
extasy  seemed  to  revolt  against  such  oppression,  desirous 
to  escape  to  that  region,  where  it  should  slumber  no  more, 
through  fullness  of  bliss. 

Calling  to  her  bedside,  at  the  dawn  of  morning,  the  old 
warriour,  for  her  mother  for  several  nights  had  watched 
beside  her,  she  said — 

"  Knowest  thou,  Father,  that  I  am  now  about  to  leave 
thee  ?" 

Fixing  his  keen  glance  upon  her  for  a  moment,  and 
kneeling  at  her  side,  he  answered — 

"  I  know  it,  my  daughter.  Thy  blue  eye  hath  already 
the  light  of  that  sky  to  which  thou  art  ascending.  Thy 
brow  hath  the  smile  of  the  angels  who  wait  for  thee." 

Martha  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  hid  it  OQ 
the  couch,  fearful  lest  she  might  see  agony  in  one  so  be 
loved.  Yet  she  fixed  on  that  pallid  countenance  another 
long,  tender  gaze,  as  the  expiring  voice  said — 

"  I  go,  where  is  no  shade  of  complexion — no  trace  of 
sorrow.  I  go  to  meet  my  parents,  who  died  in  faith  ;  my 
Edward,  whose  trust  was  in  his  Redeemer.  I  shall  see  thy 
daughter,  and  she  will  be  my  sister,  where  all  is  love. 
Father !  Mother !  that  God,  whom  you  have  learned  to 
worship,  whose  spirit  dwells  in  your  hearts,  guide  you 
thither  also." 

Extending  to  each  a  hand,  cold  as  marble,  she  said — 
"  I  was  a  stranger,  and  ye  took  me  in  :  sick,  and  ye 


248  SKETCH  OP  CONNECTICUT. 

ministered  unto  me.    And  now  go  I  unto  Him,  who  hath 
said  "  the  merciful  shall  obtain  mercy." 

They  felt  that  the  chilling  clasp  of  her  fingers  relaxed 
and  saw  that  her  lips  moved  inaudibly.  They  knew  that 
she  was  addressing  Him,  who  was  taking  her  unto  himself. 
A  smile  not  to  be  described  passed,  like  a  gleam  of  sun 
shine,  over  her  countenance  ;  and  they  heard  the  words 
1  joy  unspeakable,  and  full  of  glory."  Something  more 
was  breathed  in  the  faintest  utterance,  but  she  closed  not 
the  sentence — it  was  finished  in  Heaven. 

There  was  long  silence  in  the  apartment,  save  the  sobs 
of  the  bereaved  Martha,  and  at  long  intervals  a  deep  sigh, 
as  if  bursting  from  the  bottom  of  the  breast  of  the  aged 
warriour.  Then  he  rose  from  the  earth  where  he  bad 
stooped  his  forehead,  and  took  the  hand  of  his  companion. 

"  We  have  heard,"  he  said,  "  before  we  were  Chris 
tians,  that  too  much  grief  is  displeasing  to  the  Great  Spirit 
Let  us  pray  to  that  God,  to  whom  she  has  returned.  She 
hath  taught  us  to  call  Him  Father,  who  was  once  terrible 
io  our  thought.  She  was  as  the  sun  in  our  path.  But  she 
hath  set  behind  the  dark  mountains.  Hath  set  did  I  say  ? 
No.  She  hath  risen  to  a  brighter  sky,  and  beams  of  her 
light  will  sometimes  visit  us.  Thou  hast  wept  for  two 
daughters,  Martha.  One,  thou  didst  nurse  upon  thy  breast. 
But  was  she  dearer  than  this  ?  Did  not  the  child  of  our 
adoption  lie  as  near  to  our  heart,  as  she  to  whom  we  gave 
life  ?  Henceforth,  we  shall  be  made  childless  no  more. 
Let  us  dry  up  the  fountain  of  our  sorrows.  Let  us  pray 


FORTY   YEARS    SINCE.  249 

together  to  Him  who  maketh  the  heart  soft,  and  bindeth 
it  up." 

The  day  seemed  of  interminable  length  to  the  aged 
mourners,  who,  long  accustomed  to  measure  time  by  the 
varieties  of  solicitude,  felt  that  the  loss  of  the  sole  object 
of  their  care  had  given  to  the  hours  a  weight,  under  which 
they  heavily  moved. 

In  the  afternoon,  the  clergyman,  who  for  several  days 
had  not  visited  their  habitation,  was  seen  to  approach  it. 
Zachary  went  to  meet  him.  The  agitation,  which  had  so 
long  marked  the  manner  of  the  grief-stricken  warriour, 
had  subsided  ;  and  he  moved  with  the  calm  dignity  which 
was  natural  to  him.  His  deportment  seemed  an  illustra 
tion  of  the  words  of  the  king  of  Israel,  when  his  child  was 
smitten  : — - 

**  She  is  dead.  Wherefore  should  I  mourn  ?  Can  I 
bring  her  back  again  ?  I  shall  go  to  her,  but  she  shall  not 
return  to  me." 

Bowing  to  the  clergyman,  he  said — 
"  She,  whom  you  seek,  is  not  here.    She  arose  ere  the 
sun  looked  upon  the  morning.    Come,  see  the  place  where 
she  lay." 

Departing  from  the  distant  respect  bordering  upon  awe, 
which  he  had  been  accustomed  to  testify  towards  the  guide 
of  Oriana,  he  led  him  by  the  hand  to  the  apartment,  as  if 
he  felt  that  in  the  house  of  death  all  distinctions  were  lev 
elled,  and  all  men  made  equal. 


250  SKETCH   OF   CONNECTICUT, 

Martha  lifted  up  a  white  sheet,  and  discovered  the  life 
less  form  clad  in  a  robe  and  cap  of  the  purest  cambrick. 
which  those  beautiful  hands  had  prepared,  and  preserved 
for  the  occasion.  Rich,  and  profuse  curls  still  clustered 
round  an  oval  forehead,  which  bore  no  furrow  of  care,  or 
trace  of  pain.  Long,  silken  eye-lashes  fringed  the  iov 
moveable  lids,  which  concealed,  in  their  marble  caskets, 
gems  forever  sealed  from  the  gaze  of  man.  But  whoever 
has  beheld  beauty,  which  Death  has  blanched  but  not 
destroyed  ;  or  has  hung  over  the  ruins  of  the  Creator's 
fairest  workmanship,  deserted  by  life,  but  not  by  love  ; 
may  have  realized  that  moment  of  thrilling  tenderness,  of 
speechless  awe,  which  we  should  in  vain  attempt  to  dc 
scribe. 


'*  It  is  finished  !"  said  the  divinCi  lowering  his  head  . 
but  no  tear  stole  over  his  placid  countenance.  He  be 
lieved  that  if  there  is  joy  among  the  angels  in  Heaven 
over  one  sinner  that  repenteth,  there  ought  at  least  to  be 
resignation  on  earth,  when  a  saint  is  admitted  to  their  glo 
rious  company.  Kneeling  down  he  prayed  with  the 
mourners,  and  after  the  orison,  said  — 

"  Great  is  the  blessing  which  has  been  lent  to  you,  my 
friends.  Her  prayers,  her  instructions,  her  example,  how 
precious  were  they  all  to  you  !  May  they,  through  the 
aid  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  lead  you  where  she  has  gone." 

"  My  heart  is  sorrowful,"  said  old  Martha,  "  because 
my  ears  hear  no  more  the  sound  of  her  voice.  Every 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE.  251 

place,  in  which  she  has  sat,  speaks  the  name  of  Oriana.  I 
goto  it,  but  she  is  not  there." 

The  clergyman  spoke  kind  words  of  comfort  to  them? 
as  to  his  brethren  ;  andere  he  departed,  made  arrange 
ments  for  the.  funeral  solemnities,  that  the  bones  of  the 
stranger  might  rest  in  consecrated  earth.  Two  days  elaps 
ed,  and  the  scene  changed  to  the  burial  ground  of  the  re 
ligious  community,  to  which  he  ministered.  An  open 
grave  was  seen  there,  and  a  few  forms  flitting  among  the 
Shades  which  environed  the  spot,  as  if  watching  for  some 
funeral  train.  The  passing-bell,  echoing  from  rock  to 
rock,  fell  with  its  solemn,  measured  sound  upon  their  ear, 
as  they  roved  amid  the  mouldering  remains  of  their  fellow 
creatures.  There  were  here  but  few  monuments,  and 
none  whose  splendour  could  attract  the  attention  of  the 
traveller.  It  might  seem  as  if  those,  who  here  slumber 
ed,  had  realized  the  fallacy  of  those  arts,  by  which  man 
strives  to  adhere  to  the  remembrance  of  his  kind. 

Perhaps,  among  this  group,  were  some  recent  mourn 
ers,  who  felt  their  wounds  bleed  afresh  at  the  sight  of  an 
open  grave.  Perhaps  some  parent  might  there  be  seen, 
bowing  in  agony  over  the  newly  covered  bed  of  his  child  ; 
some  daughter,  kneeling  to  kiss  the  green  turf  upon  the 
breast  of  her  mother  ;  some  lover,  weeping  amid  the  ru 
ins  of  his  hope,  or  casting  an  unopened  rose  bud  on  the 
gr.'.eof  her  who  had  perished  in  beauty.  Alas!  how 
many  varieties  of  grief  had  that  narrow  spot  witnessed, 
since  it  cast  a  heavy  mantle  over  the  head  of  its  first  ten- 


252  SKETCH   OF   CONNECTIUCY, 

ant.  Hovr  many  hearts  had  there  laid  the  ido!  of  their 
worship ,  and  withered  over  the  broken  altar.  How  many 
sad  spirits  had  there  buried  the  roses  that  adorned  their 
bower  ;  and  passed  the  remainder  of  their  pilgrimage  un 
der  the  cloud. 

Here  too,  with  the  sigh  of  mourning  perhaps  mingled 
the  pang  of  compunction  :   for  how  few  can  say,  when  the 
earth  covers  their  beloved  ones,  between  us,  nothing  has 
transpired  at  which  memory  should  blush — nothing  been 
omitted,  on  which  regret  can  feed — -nothing  done,  which 
tenderness  would  wish  to  alter — nothing  left  undone,  which 
duty,  or  religion  could  supply  ?   Perhaps  some,  amid  that 
group,  might  realize  that  the  thorn  in  the  conscience  can 
rankle,  long  after  the  wound  of  God's  visitation  had  been 
healed.     Others  might  there  have  wandered,  in  whose 
hearts  Time  had  blunted  the  arrow  of  Grief.  The  shrine, 
once  empty  in  the  sanctuary  of  their  soul,  filled  by  some 
other  image  ;  and  were  it  possible  that  the  tomb  should 
restore  to    their    arms    that    tenant    whom   they   once 
thought  to  lament  with  eternal  tears,  might  there  not  be 
some  barrier  to  joy,  some  change  in  love,  wrought  by 
the  silent  mutation  of  years  ?    Yet  of  whatever  nature 
were  the  reflections  of  the  group,  who  circled  with  light 
footstep,  the  "  cold  turf-altar  of  the  dead,"  they  were  soon 
interrupted  by  the  approach  of  a  procession.     It  was  first 
seen   indistinctly  through   trees—then   winding  over  the 
bridge— then  pacing,  with  solemn  step,  and  slow,  the  base 
of  one  of  the  principal  streets.    Then  turning  obliquely, 


FORTY   YEARS   SINCE.  253 

it  entered  the 'western  road,  which,  skirting  the  banks  of 
the  river,  led  directly  to  that  narrow  house,  where  the 
pale  assembly  slumbered.  As  they  pursued  their  course, 
the  rough,  broken  rocks,  towering  on  their  right  hand,  and 
in  their  rear  the  bustle  of  the  town,  might  seem  an  emblem 
of  the  paths  and  pursuits  of  the  worldling  :  while,  on  their 
left,  the  pure,  placid  current,  reflecting  the  brightness  of 
a  sun  already  approaching  the  horizon,  typified  the  re 
pose  of  the  saint,  when  he  *'  resteth  from  his  labours,  and 
his  works  follow  him." 

Next  to  the  bier,  walked  the  aged  warriour,  and  his 
wife  ;  like  the  patriarch,  who  would  go  down  to  the  grave 
to  his  son  mourning.  The  Chieftain  Robert,  and  John 
Cooper  followed,  with  heads  declined  ;  as  those  who  had 
testified  friendship  for  the  deceased,  without  having  been 
acquainted  with  her  history.  Many  of  the  natives  of  Mo- 
began,  two  and  two,  in  decent  dresses,  next  appeared, 
wishing  to  shew  respect  to  old  Zachary,  whom  they  all 
loved.  A  number  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  town  were 
seen  to  close  the  procession.  They  had  heard,  from  the 
benevolent  clergyman,  some  notice  of  the  departed;  and 
had  walked  out  a  mile  to  meet  those  who  came  to  discharge 
the  last  offices  of  respect  to  the  mysterious  stranger.  He, 
ascending  the  steps,  where  he  had  so  often  preceded  the 
trains  of  sorrow,  uncovered  a  head  where  care  had  already 
begun  to  shed  its  snows.  The  peculiar  meJody  of  his 
voice  was  never  more  apparent,  than  when  its  soothing, 
and  impressive  tones  poured  forth  on  the  silence  of  the 


254  SKETCH   OP   CONNECTICUT, 

funeral  scene,  "  I  am  the  resurrection,  and  the  life,  saitk 
the  Lord."    The  attention  of  the  natives  to  this  solemn 
service  was  almost  breathless.     It  seemed  as  if  their  hum 
bled,  dejected  countenances  were  an  illustration  of  that 
pathetic  portion  of  it,  "  Man  that  is  born  of  a  woman,  is 
of  few  days,  and  full  of  misery."     Tears  rolled'over  the 
face  of  old  Martha  at  the  words,  "  He  cometh  up  and  is 
cut  down  like  a  flower,  he  fleeth  as   it  were  a  shadow, 
and  never  continueth  in  one  stay."     The  hollow  sound  of 
the  clods  falling  upon  the  lid  of  the  coffin,  arid  the  voice, 
"  earth  to  earth,  ashes  to  ashes,  dust   to  dust,"   drew  a 
deep  groan  from  the  hoary  warriour.    John  Cooper,  who, 
strongly  attached  to  the  customs  of  Mr.  Occom,  had  list 
ened  with  some  touch  of  sectarian  feeling,  was  so  much 
affected  at  the  introduction  of  the  passage,  "  write  !  bless 
ed  are  the  dead,  who  die  in  the  Lord,"  that,  forgetting  he 
was  in  a  burying  place  of  the  Church  of  England,  he  re 
sponded  fervently,   Amen.     At  the   close  of  the  service , 
the  divine  approached  old  Zachary,  and  took  him  by  the 
hand.     He  stood  like  some  tall  tree   in  the  forest  firm  at 
the  root,  but  whose  boughs  are  marked  by  a  winter  which 
can  know  no  spring.     His  few  silver  locks  waved  in  the 
light  breeze  that  was  rising  ;  and  his  eyes,  bent  upon  the 
grave,  were  tearless.     Bowing  down  at  the  salutation  of 
the  clergyman,  he  said  in  a  calm  tone—"  I  look  for  the 
resurrection  from  the  dead,  for  the  life  of  the  world   to 
come."   Martha,  whose  erect  and  dignified  form,  had  nev 
er  yielded  to.  time,  now  be^nt  with  sorrow.    Clasping  tV 


FORTY   YEARS    SINCE.  266 

offered  hand  between  both  hers,  she  put  into  it  a  packet, 
saying,  "  she  left  this  for  you,  and  she  blessed  you,  when 
the  cold  dew  was  on  her  forehead  like  rain-drops.'*  John 
Cooper  bowed  reverently,  and  the  chief,  stalking  with 
his  majestic  port  toward  him  who  had  officiated,  said 
"  Father  !  thou  hast  spoken  well.  The  Great  Spirit  is 
pleased  with  words  like  these,  and  with  a  life  like  thine." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

"  Pure  Love  is  indestructible, 
Its  holy  flame  forever  burneth, 
From  heaven  it  came,  to  heaven  returneth ; 
Too  oft  on  earth  a  troubled  guest, 
At  times  deceiv'd,  at  times  opprest, 
It  here  is  tried,  and  purified, 
Then  hath  in  heaven  its  perfect  rest." 
f  Southey. 

THE  clergyman,  after  his  return  from  performing  the 
last  pious  offices  for  Oriana,  read  the  following  letter, 
which  had  been  presented  to  him  at  her  grave. 

'  You  have  expressed  a  wish,  my  dear  and  reverend 
benefactor,  to  possess  a  more  particular  acquaintance  with 
my  history,  than  my  weakness  has  yet  permitted  me  to 
impart.    I  will,  as  God  may  give  me  strength,  recount 
=ome  of  its  circumstances,  to  meet  your  eye  when  mine  is 
closed  in  dust.    It  will  then  be  time  enough  to  lift  the  veil 
of  mystery,  when  1  shall  no  longer  be  pained  at  the  curi 
osity  of  strangers,  or  affected  by  their  opinion.     You,  Sir> 
have  without  suspicion  reposed  confidence  in  the  imper- 
r'ect  narrative,   which  has  been  entrusted  to  you.     You 
have  not,  as  the  cold-hearted  multitude  might  have  done, 
wounded  with  the  cruelty  of  distrust  a  heart  long  sinking 
beneath  the  visitation  of  God.     You  will  not  now  believe 
?hat  a  spirit,  nurtured  in  the  love  of  truth,  could  use  guile, 
22* 


258  SKETCH   OF   CONNECTICUT, 

when   on  the  threshold  of  His  presence,  who  "  hateth 
every  false  way." 

"  I  was  born  in  Blackburn>  in  the  county  of  Lancashire, 
in  England,  and  descended  of  obscure,  but  virtuous  ances 
tors.  My  father,  whose  name  was  Selden,  was  devoted 
to  the  pursuits  of  agriculture.  He  married  rather  late  in 
life,  and  died  while  I  was  yet  a  child.  With  the  profits 
of  his  industry,  my  mother  purchased  a  neat  cottage  in  a 
retired  spot,  where  she  devoted  herself  to  my  welfare. 
Her  education  had  been  supcriour  to  what  is  usually  found 
among  those  of  her  rank  ;  and  the  few  books  which  she 
possessed,  aided  by  the  force  of  her  example,  excited  in 
me  an  early  taste  for  reading,  f  can  scarcely  imagine  a 
lot  more  congenial  with  happiness  than  ours.  Our  income 
ivas  adequate  to  our  wants  ;  and  that  industry,  which  pre 
served  our  health,  gave  us  the  power  of  administering  t«- 
the  necessities  of  others.  When  my  daily  share  of  labour 
was  completed,  my  recreations  were  to  tend  my  llowers, 
to  read,  to  converse  with  my  mother  while  we  were  both 
employed  with  our  needles,  or  to  join  my  voice  to  that  of 
ihe  birds  who  surrounded  our  habitation.  I  was  inn.ic, 
the  pastoral  charge  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Owen,  of  the  Estab 
lished  Church,  a  man  of  the  most  ardent  piety,  and  inde 
fatigable  zeal  in  the  instruction  of  his  flock.  By  him  I 
was  baptized  in  infancy,  and  weekly  catechized  in  my 
knowledge  of  those  doctrines,  which  be  explained  with 
simplicity,  and  illustrated  by  example.  1  have  often  re 
flected  with  gratitude  that  by  him  1  was  prepared  for  the 


FORTY    YEARS   SINCE.  259 

vows  of  confirmation,  and  by  his  hand  led  to  that  holy 
sacrament  which  our  Saviour  has  instituted  for  the  peni 
tent  believer.  It  was  impossible  to  attend  to  his  injunc 
tions  without  cultivating  that  close  acquaintance  with  the 
heart,  that  scrutiny  into  its  springs  of  action,  which  in 
duce  deep  humility,  and  a  renunciation  of  merit,  save 
through  the  mediation  of  Him,  "  who  offered  himself 
without  spot  to  God."  To  the  blessing  of  the  Holy 
Spirit  on  the  instructions  of  this  beloved  guide  do  !  im-  \ 
pute,  that  the  foundation  of  my  faith  was  laid  even  in 
childhood  so  strong,  that  it  does  not  fail  me  now,  in  my 
hour  of  trial.  Mingled  also  with  the  pursuits  of  piety, 
was  a  thirst  for  knowlege.  But  to  this  my  lot  afforded  on 
ly  ,1  limited  gratification.  Edward  Merlon,  the  son  of  a 
family  of  distinction  in  the  vicinity,  became  interested  to 
h  me  what  wealth  afforded  him  the  means  of  acquir- 
i'i£.  His  noble  mind,  enlarged  by  the  circle  of  the  sci 
ences,  took  pleasure  in  imparting  to  others  its  own  riches. 
Most  of  his  evenings  were  passed  at  our  cottage,  in  reading 
to  us  the  works  of  authors,  which  we  had  no  other  means 
;  • '.blaming.  That  joy  seemed  to  animate  him,  with 
which  the  benevolent  mind  gives  food  to  the  hungry,  or 
opens  a  fountain  to  the  thirsty  soul.  To  my  simple  mind, 
}•(•  -ccmc-d  as  a  pure  spirit  bowing  from  the  skies  to  ele- 
v-.iic  an  inferiour  race.  At  length  it  became  evident  that 
he  loved  the  mind  which  he  had  himself  adorned  ;  like  him 
who,  imparting  fire  from  heaven  to  an  inert  mass,  became 
its  adorer.  Authorized  in  cherishing  a  virtuous  attach- 


260  SKETCH   OF   CONNECTICUT, 

ment,  it  increased  every  day,  and  every  night  I  thanked 
my  Creator  with  exuberant  gratitude,  for  the  fullness  of 
my  joy.     Yet  my  heart  too  much  exulted,  too  exclusively 
trusted  to  the  earth,  and  at  the  moment  when  I  thought 
my  sky  the  brightest,  it  was  involved  in  a  cloud  of  woe- 
Edward's  only  surviving  parent  was  a  father,  a  proud,  and 
mercenary  man.     Two  sons  were  his  sole  offspring,  and 
the  idea  that  one  should  marry  a  cottager  was  insupporta 
ble.    With  the  threat  of  disinheritance,  he  commanded 
him  to  relinquish  the  design  ;  and  I,  educated  with  high 
ideas  of  filial  obedience,  entreated  him  to  submit,  though 
my  heart  felt  that  it  must  break  at  his  desertion.    Nothing, 
however,   was  able  to  destroy  the  inviolable  affection  of 
that  exalted  being.     To  me,  a  novice  in  the  school  of  sor 
row,  this  trial  appeared  too  much  for  endurance,  until  it 
was  appointed  to  be  swallowed  up  in  a  greater  affliction. 
My  mother,  whose  health  had  been  delicate   from  her 
youth,  and  who  had  long  been  subject  to  symptoms  of  dis 
ease,  which  she  laboured  to  conceal  from  me,  now  rapid 
ly  declined.      I  watched  in  agony,  day  and  'night,  the 
struggles  of  a  gentle  spirit,  disengaging  itself  from  clay, 
Her  resignation  to  the  divine  will  was  scarcely  shaded  by 
maternal  anxiety  ;  for  she  trusted  to  leave  her  orphan  to 
the   protection    of  one,  who  loved  the    orphan's  God, 
Sometimes  she  would  join  our  hands,  as  we  kneeled  to 
gether  by  her  couch,  saying  with  a  smile,  "  My  children, 
you  will  be  happy,  though  I  am  gone.     Yet  forget  not  to 
seek  greater  happiness  ;  for  ah  !   if  you  come  not  to  me. 


FORTY    YEARS   SINCE.  261 

at  last ,  there  will  be  mourning  in  Heaven. ' '  I  had  forborne 
to  communicate  to  her  the  opposition  of  Edward's  father 
to  our  union,  lest  it  might  embitter  her  parting  moments. 
But  as  her  sickness  approached  its  fatal  termination,  he 
was  himself  summoned  to  his  last  account.  He  had  been 
Tor  some  time  absent,  superintending  an  estate  in  Ireland, 
and  encountering  a  storm  in  the  Channel,  was  drowned 
on  his  homeward  passage.  He  gave  by  will  all  his  pos 
sessions  to  his  eldest  son,  to  whom  he  was  partial,  and 
who  resembled  him  in  character.  Edward  came  to  us 
depressed  at  the  depth  of  his  poverty.  But  my  heart 
with  deep  gratitude  thanked  the  Eternal  Sire,  that  I  might? 
now  return  his  affection  without  the  imputation  of  merce 
nary  motives,  and  relieved  from  the  dread  of  a  father's 
malediction.  He  departed  for  a  few  days  to  seek  some 
prospect  of  maintenance,  and  returned  only  in  time  to 
support  me  to  my  mother's  grave.  The  fatal  disease, 
which  has  set  its  seal  upon  me,  triumphed  over  both  my 
parents.  The  bitterness  of  my  orphanage  was  consoled 
by  the  voice  of  love  as  pure,  as  ardent,  as  holy,  as  ever 
dwelt  in  the  breast  of  man.  So  firmly  was  it  returned, 
that  I  heard,  without  repining,  that  the  only  resource 
which  remained  was  to  join  the  army,  then  about  to  em 
bark  for  America,  under  Earl  Cornwallis. 

"  We  were  married,  and  my  little  patrimony,  which  in 
consequence  of  my  mother's  sicknsss  had  become  some 
what  encumbered  with  debt,  was  sold.  Hand  in  hand, 
we  parted  from  that  sweet  cottage,  to  encounter  the  peril? 


262  SKETCH   OF    CONNECTICUT, 

of  ocean,  and  war  in  a  foreign  land.    Methought  that  little 
retreat  never  looked  so  beautifully  as  when  we  were  leav 
ing  it.     Its  roses,  and  woodbines  breathed  fragrantly,  and 
the  smooth-shorn  grass  before  it  was  like  the  richest  vel 
vet.    With    the  warmth  of  seventeen,  I  was  attached  to 
every  spot  which  had  ministered  to  the  joy  of  a  childhood 
whose  traces  were  yet  recent  in  my  memory.    1  gazed  on 
the  white  roof  of  the  home,  hallowed  by  the  last  breath  oi 
my  mother,  until  the  trees  hid  it  from  my  view.    Yet  all 
the  attractions  of  my  native  country  vanished,  as  shadows, 
before  my  vow'd  affection  to  him,  for  whose  sake  I  was 
willi  ng  to  become  a  wanderer.    He  was  my  all,  and  the 
idolatry  of  my  soul  was  perfect.     Therefore  its  altar  of 
earth  was  removed,  and  the  image  to  which  it  offered  ia 
cense  was  broken. 

"  I  will  not  detain  you,  Reverend  Sir,  with  the  dangers 
of  our  voyage,  or  the  hardships  of  a  life  in  camps.  Like 
the  servitude  of  Jacob,  they  seemed  to  me  as  nothing 
"  for  the  love  I  bare  him."  But  in  time  of  battle,  my 
wretchedness  was  extreme.  It  was  then  that,  imploring 
protection  for  my  husband,  I  first  learned  what  was  mean* 
by  "  the  agony  of  prayer."  Of  a  daring,  and  invincible 
spirit,  he  was  ambitious  to  stand  foremost  in  the  ranks  of 
danger.  His  intrepidity  gained  the  attention  of  his  offi 
cers,  and  led  to  his  promotion.  This  stimulated  his  mili 
tary  enthusiasm,  and  when  1  entreated  him  to  be  careful 
of  his  life  for  my  sake,  he  would  answer  firmly,  but  with 
tenderness,  ".In  the  scenes  to  which  my  duty  sails  me 


FORTY   YEARS  SINCE.  &>3 

there  can  be  no  protector  but  the  God  of  battles.     Is  he 
not  also  a  God  of  the  widow  ?" 

But  from  the  details  of  war  I  have  ever  shrunk,  and  now 
my  trembling  hand,  and  fluttering  heart  admonish  me  to 
be  brief.     Seldom  has   one,  who  possessed  such  native 
aversion  from  all  the  varieties  of  strife,  such  an  instinctive 
horrour  at  the  sight  of  blood-shed,  been  appointed  to  share 
the  fortunes  of  a  soldier.     During  the  investment  of  York- 
town,  in  the  autumn  of  1781,  he  was  almost  constantly 
divided  from  me,  either  on  some  post  of  fatigue,  or  expos 
ure.     The  minute  scenes  of  that  eventful  period  are  en 
graved  on  my   memory,  as  with  the  point  of  a  diamond. 
Often  have  I  retraced  the  circumstances  of  the  last  night 
which  I  passed  in  that  fatal  spot.     The  atmosphere  was 
faintly  lighted  by  stars,  shedding  that  dim,  doubtful  beam, 
which  disposes  the  mind  to  melancholy  contemplation. 
I  was  alone,  and  the  heaviness  of  my  solitude  in  a  strange 
land  oppressed  my  heart  like  a  physical  weight.     The 
works  of  the  allied  French  and  Americans  were  every  day 
brought  more  nearly  to  us.    In  the  form  of  a  crescent  they 
spread  themselves  before  us,  cutting  off  our  communica 
tion  with  the  neighbouring  country.    The  ships  of  France., 
anchored  at  the  mouth  of  York  River,  prevented  our  re 
ceiving  supplies  from  thence,  or  aid  from  Sir  Henry  Clin 
ton,  who  in  New- York  awaited  our  fate  with  anxiety.    A 
fixed  gloom  might  be   sees  on  the  countenance  of  Cora- 
wallis  ;  and  Tarleton,  who  had  hitherto  poured  his  bold 
into  the  enterprise,  was  suffering  pain.,  and  dejection 


^64  SKETCH   OF    CONNECTICUT, 

from  a  wound.  The  prospects  of  our  army  were  dark  in 
the  extreme,  and  I  was  continually  agitated  with  fears  for 
my  sole  earthly  stay.  To  dissipate  the  melancholy  im 
pressions  which  thronged  my  soul,  I  ascended  to  the  top 
of  the  house  to  take  a  view  of  that  glorious  firmament, 
which  had  so  often  led  my  thoughts  from  the  woes  of  earth 
to  the  tranquillity  of  heaven.  But  the  thunder  of  a  terrible 
cannonade  drew  my  attention  to  the  surrounding  scene . 
The  whole  peninsula  seemed  to  tremble  beneath  the  en 
gines  of  war.  Bombs,  from  the  batteries  of  both  parties, 
were  continually  crossing  each  others  path.  Like  blazing 
meteors  their  luminous  trains  traversed  each  other,  with 
awful  sublimity.  Sometimes  I  heard  that  hissing  sound, 
when  in  their  fall  they  excavate  the  earth,  and  rend  in 
atoms  whatever  opposes  them.  Once  I  saw  the  severed, 
mangled  limbs  of  several  British  soldiers  thrown  into  the 
air,  by  their  explosion.  I  fancied  that  I  heard  a  groan  of 
agony  in  the  voice  that  I  loved,  and  listened  till  sensation 
almost  forsook  me.  Suddenly,  a  flame  sprang  forth  from 
the  bosom  of  the  river.  It  was  a  column  of  ineffable 
brightness.  The  waters  seemed  to  feed  it,  and  every  mo 
ment  it  rose  higher,  and  extended  wider,  as  if  uncertain 
whether  first  to  enfold  the  earth,  or  the  heavens.  Then 
two  smaller  furnaces  burst  forth  near  it,  breathing  intense 
fires  in  spiral  forms,  beautiful  and  dreadful.  I  gazed,  till 
the  waters  glowed  in  one  dazzling  expanse,  and  I  knew 
not  but  the  Almighty  in  anger  at  the  crimes  of  man,  was 
kindling  around.him  an  ocean  of  flame  ;  as  He  once  pour- 


FORTY   YEARS   SINCE.  265 

cd  over  him  a  deluge  of  waters.  But  nothing  could  hush 
the  incessant  roar  of  these  engines  of  death  ;  and  I  thought 
that  man  would  continue  to  pursue  his  brother  with  hatred, 
even  to  the  conflagration  of  the  day  of  doom.  When  the 
influence  of  an  excited  imagination  had  subsided,  I  found 
that  this  splendid  and  fearful  pageant  was  the  burning  of  the 
Charon,  one  of  our  ships  of  war,  with  two  smaller  vessels 
at  anchor  in  the  river,  which  had  been  set  on  fire  by  a 
heated  shell  from  the  French  battery.  Chilled  with  the 
e damps  of  evening,  I  descended,  and  threw  myself  upon 
my  sleepless  couch.  My  health  had  for  some  time  suffer 
ed  for  want  of  exercise  in  the  open  air,  from  which  I  was 
precluded  by  the  impossibility  of  enjoying  the  company, 
and  protection  of  my  husband.  On  the  afternoon  of  the 
following  day,  he  entered  his  apartment.  It  was  Sunday, 
October  14th,  for  misery  stamped  the  date  indelibly  on 
my  soul.  He  told  me  that  he  was  to  remain  with  me,  until 
evening  should  call  him  forth  to  his  watch  upon  the  ram 
parts.  He  requested  me  to  read  the  service  for  the  day 
from  the  Prayer-book  ;  for  vye  had  endeavoured,  as  far  as 
possible  amid  the  privations  of  our  existence,  to  hallow  the 
day  of  God  by  private  devotion.  As  I  closed  the  volume, 
the  sun  forsook  the  horizon,  leaving  a  beautifully  serene 
sky.  He  proposed  a  walk,  to  which  I  gladly  assented  ; 
and  as  the  means  of  prolonging  it,  without  attracting  par 
ticular  attention  in  streets  filled  with  soldiers,  desired  me 
to  wear  a  suit  of  his  military  apparel.  Yielding  to  his  rea 
soning,  I  consented  thus  to  array  myself ;  and  we  strolled 
23 


266  SKETCH   OF   CONNECTICUT, 

onward,  admiring  the  scenary  which,  at  that  season  in  the 
American  climate,  is  so  peculiarly  brilliant.  We  indulged 
in  a  conversation,  which  selected  from  the  past  the  most 
soothing  recollections,  and  gilded  the  future  with  the  pen 
cil  of  hope.  We  followed  the  course  of  the  fortifications 
until  we  had  passed,  almost  unconsciously,  the  last  re 
doubt.  The  shadows  of  evening  were  beginning  to  con 
ceal  the  landscape,  when  we  heard  the  trampling  of  many 
feet.  The  white  uniform  of  the  French,  and  presently 
that  of  the  Americans  were  seen,  through  the  trees  which 
skirted  our  path.  My  husband  had  scarcely  time  to  draw 
his  sword,  when  a  volley  of  shot  was  poured  upon  us.  A 
bullet  pierced  his  breast,  and  he  fell  without  life.  I  fell 
with  him,  senseless  as  himself.  I  recovered  troin  my 
swoon  to  mourn  that  I  lived,  and  to  feel  more  than  the  bit 
terness  of  death.  Sometimes  I  fancied  that  he  clasped 
my  hand  ;  but  it  was  only  the  trickling  of  his  blood  through 
my  own.  I  imagined  that  he  sighed  ;  but  it  was  the 
breathing  of  the  hollow  wind  through  the  reeds  where  his 
head  lay.  I  heard  the  horrible  uproar  of  war  in  the  neigh 
bouring  redoubts,  the  roar  of  cannon,  the  clashing  of 
swords,  and  the  cry  of  men.  I  knew  that  the  enemy  was 
in  the  town,  but  I  made  no  attempt  to  escape.  Whither 
should  I  have  flown  ?  Among  my  own  people  I  was  a 
stranger,  and  were  it  possible  that  I  should  reach  England, 
who  would  succour  me  there  ?  An  hour  passed  in  the 
madness  of  grief,  while  I  was  clasping  the  lifeless  form, 
and  supplicating  to  be  made  like  unto  it,  A  small  party 


PORTV    YEARS   SINCE.  267 

passed,  speaking  with  uncouth  voices.  I  saw  that  they 
were  American  Indians,  and  wished  to  escape.  I  forgot,  in 
my  inconsistency,  that  I  had  a  moment  before  exclaimed 
with  the  prophet,  who  mourned  his  smitten  gourd,  "  take 
now  away  my  life,  I  pray  thee  ;  it  is  better  for  me  to 
die,  than  to  live."  My  movements  betrayed  me,  and  they 
took  me  prisoner.  They  were  leaving  the  town,  and  I 
expected  to  have  been  conveyed  to  the  American  camp. 
But  they  continued  to  journey  throughout  the  night,  and 
from  their  conversation  I  learned  that  two  redoubts  had 
been  taken  by  the  Americans  and  French,  with  desperate 
valour.  This  was  the  daring  action,  in  which  La  Fayette 
led  on  the  Americans,  and  De  Viomenil  the  French,  which 
preceded  but  four  days  the  surrender  of  Earl  Cormvallis. 
The  party  which  had  slain  my  husband,  was  the  advance- 
guard,  under  the  command  of  Colonel  Hamilton  ;  and 
those,  who  had  taken  me  captive,  were  a  small  number  of 
natives  led  by  a  Delaware  Chief.  They  were  connected 
with  some  embassy  which  had  been  sent,  as  far  as  I  could 
understand  their  broken  explanations,  to  discover  the  state 
of  affairs  at  Yorktown  ;  and  being  there  at  the  time  of  this 
encounter,  had  joined  the  Americans,  partly  as  actors,  and 
partly  as  spies.  Thus  was  I  in  the  power  of  beings,  whom 
I  had  ever  contemplated  as  the  most  savage  of  mankind. 
I  followed  them,  as  we  rove  in  a  terrible  dream  unable 
either  to  resist,  or  to  awake.  Stupified  with  grief,  I  was 
for  many  days  unequal  to  the  sense  of  my  misery.  Yet  the 
captors,  so  far  from  testifying  the  cruelty  I  had  anticipa- 


268  SKETCH   OF   CONNECTICUT, 

ted,  were  attentive  to  my  wants.  Of  their  food,  which 
was  principally  game  shot  as  they  travelled,  and  roasted 
before  fires  kindled  in  the  forest,  they  always  presented 
me  an  ample  share,  even  when  they  were  themselves  but 
scantily  supplied.  When  I  was  weary,  they  would  con 
struct  a  kind  of  litter,  and  carry  me  for  a  time  upon  their 
shoulders.  I  exerted  myself  tg  endure  hardship  as  cour 
ageously  as  possible,  fearing  they  might  suspect  my  dis 
guise  ;  but  they  appeared  to  consider  my  effeminacy  as 
the  result  of  that  civilization  which  they  constantly  de. 
cried.  "  A  British  soldier,"  said  they,  "  is  never  so  good 
on  a  march,  as  an  Indian  squaw." 

But  as  I  began  to  arouse  from  the  stupor,  which  the 
overwhelming  rapidity  of  my  affections  had  occasioned, 
a  horrible  idea  took  possession  of  my  mind.  I  imagined 
they  were  protecting  my  life  with  such  care,  in  order  to 
sacrifice  it  in  that  savage  manner,  of  which  I  had  frequent 
ly  heard  descriptions.  This  t€rrour  obtained  predomi 
nance  over  grief.  When  I  lay  down  to  sleep  in  the  forest, 
wrapped  closely  in  my  blanket,  and  surrounded  by  the 
dark-brow'd  warriours,  no  slumber  visited  me  ;  for  beforr 
my  diseased  imagination  swam  continually  images  of  the* 
prisoner  at  the  stake,  the  flame,  the  death-song,  and  all 
tKj  features  of  savage  vengeance,  and  exultation.  Plans 
of  escape  occupied  every  night,  and  every  day  revealed 
their  impracticability.  During  this  season  of  excitement, 
1  felt  no  fatigue.  My  strength  was  more  than  equal  to 
the  labour  imposed  :  so  much  is  the  mind  capable  of  mod 


FORTY    YEARS  SINCE.  ?69 

ifying  its  terrestrial  companion.  I  hoped  that,  as  our  route 
led  through  a  more  populous  country,  we  should  occasion 
ally  lodge  in  towns  ;  where  I  fancied  greater  facility  of 
escape  might  be  offered.  But  they  avoided  suffering  me 
to  pass  through  the  more  populous  settlements,  and  uni 
formly  preferred  the  shelter  of  forests,  to  the  abodes  of 
white  men,  whom  I  found  they  still  considered  as  intrud 
ers,  and  doubtful  friends.  On  our  arrival  at  a  large  town 
in  Pennsylvania,  they  made  me,  as  usual,  travel  through 
the  outskirts  with  a  guard  of  four  men.  Those,  who  en 
tered,  perceived  demonstrations  of  extravagant  joy,  and 
were  informed  that  the  surrender  of  Cornwall  is  had  taken 
place  on  the  1 8th  of  October,  antf  that  peace  was  confi 
dently  expected.  They  made  no  stay  in  this  place,  ex 
cept  to  purchase  a  large  quantity  of  whiskey  ;  and  pres 
sing  on  with  great  rapidity,  prepared  to  pass  the  night 
within  the  borders  of  an  extensive,  and  lofty  forest. 
Here  they  made  a  fire,  and  proceeded  to  strip  the  bark 
from  some  young  saplings.  Their  words  were  in  their 
own  language,  but  their  gestures  were  mysterious  ;  and 
their  eyes  were  often  directed  towards  me,  with  an  expres 
sion  of  fierceness.  The  black  shade  of  the  forest,  whose 
top  seemed  to  reach  the  skies,  the  glare  of  the  wide,  red 
flame,  falling  upon  the  giant  forms  of  those  warriours. 
with  their  uncouth  habits,  wild  locks,  and  savage  counten 
ances,  formed  a  picture,  which  I  cannot  even  now  retrace 
without  shuddering.  Loud  words  arose,  as  if  a  contest 
was  about  to  begin.  The  party  contained  a  few  Mohe- 


270  SKETCH    OF    CONNECTICUT, 

gans  ;  but  the  principal  number  were  Delawares,  or  Len- 
ni-Lenape,  as  they  styled  themselves.     I  believed  that 
my  hour  was  come,  and  that  the  strife  was  between  the 
two  nations,  respecting  different  modes  of  torture.     An 
old  warriour  of  the  former  tribe  sat  solitary,  taking  no 
part  in  the  conflict,  but  observing  its  progress  with  great 
attention.     He  avoided  the  spirituous  liquors,  with  which 
all  were  becoming  inflamed,  and  seemed  to  reserve  him- 
felf  for  action  in   some    important  juncture.     I    thought 
that  I  had  previously  seen  him  regarding  me  with  eyes  of 
pity,  and  said  mentally,  is  it  possible  that  Heaven  will 
raise  up  in  my  extremity,  a  friend  in  this  aged  man  ?    I 
remembered  that  he  "was  called  Arrowhamet,  and  was 
treated  with  respect  for  his  courage  and  wisdom.     When 
the  strife  grew  violent,  he  arose,  and  approached  the  Dela 
ware  Chief.     They  conversed  long  together,  during  which 
both  parties  preserved  silence.     Then  they   parted,  and 
the  Lenni-Lenape  murmured  aloud.     Their  Chief  calmed 
them,  with  the  simple  expressions,  "  Arrowhamet  is  old. 
He   has  fought  bravely.     His   temples  are  white  as  the 
snows  of  the  Alleghany.     Young  men  must  submit  to  the 
warriour,  who  wears  the  crown  of  time."      They  then 
commenced  their  war-dance,  and  in  the  violence  of  thai 
amusement,  and  the  fumes  of  intoxication,  merged  their 
anger  at  disappointment.     It  was  long  past  midnight,  ere 
they  all  lay  down  to  sleep.     Arrowhamet  approached  me, 
and  throwing  over  me  his  blanket,  said,  "  The  night  is 
chill.     All  now  will  be  quiet.    Compose  your  mind,  thai 


FORTV    YEARS    SINCE.-  271 

your  body  may  be  able  to  bear  fatigue."  He  stretched 
himself  at  some  distance,  between  me,  and  the  slumber 
ing  group.  It  was  impossible  for  me  to  find  repose,  and  I 
saw  that  my  aged  guardian  also  slept  not.  His  eyes  were 
raised  upward,  as  if  he  contemplated  the  Maker  of  that 
majestic  blue  arch,  where  a  few  stars  faintly  twinkled.  I 
said  silently,  can  it  be  that  an  Indian  thinks  of  God  ?  Ah  ! 
I  knew  not  then,  of  what  deep  devotion  their  souls  were 
susceptible.  Judge,  into  what  fearful  surprize  I  was  start- 
Jed  from  my  reverie,  when  a  low  voice  uttered,  "  Oriana  ! 
Is  thy  mind  wakeful  ?  Fear  not  to  sleep.  Thou  art  re 
deemed  from  torture.  No  flame  shall  touch  you.  Be 
lieve  what  the  old  warriour  has  spoken,  and  rest  in 
peace." 

"  Why  do  you  call  me  Oriana  ?"  I  inquired,  trembling 
with  astonishment. 

v'  Didst  thou  then  think  the  eye  of  Arrowhamet  was 
,-o  dim  that  it  could  not  read  thy  brow  ?  that  his  heart 
was  so  cold  as  to  forget  the  hand  that  gave  him  bread  ?" 

"  Am  I  knawn   then  to  your  comrades  ?"    I  asked. 

"  No  thought  but  mine  has  comprehended  thee.  Arrow 
hamet  shall  be  as  the  bars  of  the  grave  to  thy  secret. 
To  all  but  me,  thou  appearest  as  if  thy  disguise  were 
truth." 

"  How  have  you  acquired  knowledge,  above  all  your 
companions,  and  what  have  you  spoken  about  my  giving 
you  food  ?" 


272  SKETCH   OF  CONNECTICUT, 

"  I  knew  that  face,"  he  answered  tenderly, ci  when  the 
torches  first  glared  upon  it,  and  the  cry  of  war  was  around. 
It  was  deadly  pale,  but  I  knew  it  was  the  face  of  her  who 
had  given  me  bread.  Thou  sayest,  when  have  I  fed 
thee  ?  So  will  the  righteous  ask  at  the  last  day.  Thou 
writest  the  traces  'of  thy  charity  in  the  sand,  but  the  fam 
ished  prisoner  graves  them  in  the  rock  forever.  I  was 
with  the  men  of  Colonel  Buford,  on  the  waters  of  the 
Santee  River,  where  out  of  four  hundred,  only  fifty-three 
escaped  the  sword  of  Tarleton.  I  saw  an  hundred  hands 
of  brave  men  raised  to  implore  mercy.  They  were 
stricken  off  by  the  sabres  of  the  horsemen,  who  SOGJI 
trampled  upon  their  bodies.  But  why  tell  I  thee  tales  of 
blood  ?  whose  heart  is  tender  as  that  of  an  infant.  I  have 
said  that  a  few  were  saved.  With  them  I  went  into  cap 
tivity.  Some  pined  away,  and  died  in  their  sorrows. 
Seventeen  moons  have  since  beamed  upon  their  graves. 

"  Remember  thou  an  old  Indian,  who  leaned  against  a 
tree,  near  thy  tent  ?  He  leaned  upon  it,  because  he  was 
weak,  and  his  blood  wasted  by  famine  ?  *He  asked  not 
for  food,  yet  thou  gavest  it  to  him.  Thou  rememberest 
him  not  ?  Well  !  Thou  wilt  never  forget  the  youth,  who 
was  near,  in  the  door  of  thy  tent.  His  voice  was  like  the 
flute  of  his  own  country,  when  he  said,  Oriana.  But  how 
did  I  see  him  next  ?  His  beautiful  forehead  was  cold,  and 
his  noble  breast  red  with  its  own  blood.  I  saw  thee  also. 
Thou  wert  as  one  dead.  But  how  could  I  be  mistaken  in 
the  hand  that  .had  given  me  bread  ?  I  determined  to  take 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE..  17o 

thee  from  my  people,  that  I  might  feed  thee  when  thou 
didst  hunger,  and  be  thy  staff  when  thou  wert  weary.  To 
this  end  have  I  laboured.  The  purpose  is  accomplished, 
and  thou  art  safe." 

"  Was  I  then  right  in  supposing  myself  destined  to  the 
torture  ?" 

'  The  chief  hatf  said  that  this  night  his  people  should 
avenge  on  thee,  tneir  young  men  who  had  been  slain  in 
battle.  So  fixed  were  the  Lenni-Lenape  upon  thy  death, 
that  1  obtained  power  to  rescue  thee  with  difficulty.  In: 
dians  will  generally  submit  their  will  to  the  hoary  head. 
But  they  continually  replied,  'Our  mighty  men  have  fallen 
before  the  warriours  of  his  country.  Two  sons  of  our  Sa 
chem  were  cut  in  pieces  by  their  swords.  The  blood  of 
the  brave  cries  for  vengeance.  If  we  give  it  not  ere  the 
rising  of  the  dawn,  let  their  souls  frowri  on  us  forever.'  " 

"  But  how  were  you  able  to  accomplish  your  compas 
sionate  design  ?"  He  hesitated  fora  moment,  ere  he  re 
plied — "  The  natives  of  this  country,  have  a  custom  of 
which  thou  art  ignorant.  He,  who  is  deprived  of  a  near 
relative  by  death,  is  permitted  to  fill  the  void  in  his  heart 
from  among  the  captives,  whom  the  fortune  of  war  gives 
into  the  hands  of  his  nation.  This  is  called  the  rite  of 
adoption.  It  has  snatched  the  prisoner  from  the  stake, 
when  the  fire  was  scorching  his  vitals.  Without  the  force 
of  this  claim  I  could  not  have  saved  thee  from  the  raging 
passions  of  my  countrymen  ;  for  the  footstep  of  death 
was  nearer  to  thee  than  mine."  Pausing,  he  added,  in  a 


£74  SKETCH   OF   CONNECTICUT, 

tone  of  great  tenderness,  "  I  had  once  a  daughter.  An 
only  one,  as  the  apple  of  my  eye.  But  she  faded.  She 
went  down  to  the  grave,  ere  she  bloomed  in  womanhood." 

"  There  was  silence  ;  and  afterwards  I  expressed  with 
warmth,  my  gratitude  t'o  my  deliverer.  The  solemn  hour 
of  midnight  had  long  passed  ;  yet  the  forest  seemed  to 
assume  a  still  darker  hue,  and  the  decaying  fires,  scarcely 
cast  a  feeble  ray  upon  the  scattered  forms  of  the  slumber 
ing  warriours. 

"  Daughter  !"  said  the  aged  man,  "  rest  in  peace.  I 
watch  over  thee.  I  have  prayed  the  Great  Spirit  that  I 
may  lead  thee  in  safety  to  my  home,  and  put  thy  hand  in 
to  the  hand  of  my  wife.  Knowest  thou  why  she  will  love 
thee  ?  Why  the  tears  will  cover  her  face,  when  she  look" 
eth  upon  thine  ?  Because  thou  wilt  remind  her  heart  of  the 
blossom  whose  growth  she  nursed,  whose  blasting  she  be 
moaned.  Be  not  angry  at  what  I  say.  She  had  a  dark 
brow,  and  her  garb  was  like  the  children  of  red  men. 
Yet,  as  she  went  down  into  the  dust,  there  was  upon  her 
lips  a  smile,  and  in  her  eye  a  tender  melancholy,  like 
thine."  He  ceased,  oppressed  with  emotion.  Pressing 
his  hands  upon  his  forehead,  he  laid  it  on  the  earth.  Pres 
ently  raising  his  head,  I  saw  that  his  eyes,  was  dazzling., 
but  tearless. 

"Wilt  thou  accept  my  adoption?"  he  inquired.  "Wilt 
thou  bow  thyself,  for  a  time,  to  be  called  the  daughter  of 
old  Arrowhamet?  I  have  said  that  it  need  be  but  for  a 
time.  My  home  is  near  the  shores  of  the  great  water* 


FORTY    YEARS    SINCE-  275 

They  shall  bear  thee  to  thy  people,  when  thy  heart  sick 
ens  at  the  rude  ways  of  Indians."  I  assured  him  of  my 
acceptance,  in  such  terms  as  an  outcast  ought  to  address 
to  his  sole  earthly  benefactor.  Apparently  gratified,  he 
raised  his  lofty  form  erect,  and  laying  one  hand  upon  my 
head,  while  he  lifted  the  other  towards  heaven,  ratified 
with  great  solemnity  his  rite  of  adoption. 

'  Thou !  whose  way  is  upon  the  winds — through  the 
deep  waters— within  the  dark  cloud— Spirit  of  Truth  ! 
before  whom  the  shades  of  our  fathers  walk  in  fields  of 
everlasting  light,  hear — confirm— bless." 

"  He  added  a  few  words  in  his  native  language,  and 
stretching  himself  upon  the  ground  in  an  attitude  of  re 
pose,  said,  "  It  is  enough.  Sleep  now,  my  daughter.  I 
will  pray  thy  God  .to  protect  thee.  Thy  God,  is  my  God. 
I  am  called  among  warriours,  Arrowhamet ;  but  the  name 
of  Zachary  was  given  me,  when  I  bowed  to  the  baptism 
of  Christians.  Thou  wilt  no  longer  fear  me,  when  thou 
art  convinced  that  our  God  is  the  same." 

"  Lost  in  wonder,  in  gratitude,  in  praise,  to  the  Al 
mighty  Preserver,  I  made  my  orison  with  many  tears,  and 
sank  into  such  a  refreshing  sleep,  as  had  not  visited  me 
since  my  captivity.  I  awoke  not,  till  the  Sun,  like  a 
globe  of  gold,  was  burnishing  the  crowns  of  the  kings  of 
the  forest. 

"  Nothing  worthy  of  narration  occurred,  on  the  remain 
der  of  our  journey.  The  supernatural  strength,  which 
had  hitherto  sustained  me,  gradually  vanished  ;  and  du- 


276  SKETCH    OF   CONNECTICUT, 

ring  a  great  part  of  the  distance,  I  was  borne  on  the  shoul 
ders  of  the  natives.  In  a  short  time,  the  Mohegans 
separated  from  the  Lenni-Lenape,  to  return  to  their  hab 
itations,  having  completed  the  period  of  their  engage 
ment.  In  passing  through  a  considerable  town,  I  sold  a 
yaluable  watch  and  necklace,  gifts  of  my  Edward  in  his 
happiest  days.  The  sum  which  they  produced,  is  not 
yet  expended.  It  will  probably  suffice  fur  the  purposes 
of  my  interment. 

"  My  reception  from  old  Martha  was  soothing  to  my 
weary  heart.  From  that  moment  to  this,  her  maternal 
kindness  has  never  slumbered.  With  the  most  watchful 
care,  she  has  suited  my  aliment  to  my  situation  ;  and  by 
her  knowledge  of  the  virtues  of  plants,  has  mitigated  my 
pain.  Kindness,  from  whatever  hand,  is  dear  to  the  iso 
lated  and  suffering  heart.  At  my  first  admission  into 
this  humble  abode,  I  cherished  a  hope  of  returning  to 
England.  Yet  to  what  should  I  have  returned  ?  Only  to 
the  graves  of  my  parents.  With  the  disconsolate  and  elo 
quent  Logan,  I  might  say,  "  there  runs  not  a  drop  of  my 
blood  in  the  veins  of  any  living  creature.  Who  is  there 
to  mourn  for  me  ?  Not  one." 

"Throughout  the  whole  range  of  my  native  country,  was 
there  a  cottage  to  afford  me  shelter,  or  friends  to  minis 
ter  to  me,  day  and  night,  like  these  aged  beings  ?  But 
with  whatever  attractions  the  land,  where  I  first  drew 
breath,  would  sometimes  gleam  upon  my  exiled  eye,  all 
hope  of  again  sharing  them  has  been  long  since  extinguish' 


FORTY   YEARS   SINCE.  277 

ed.     The   disease,  to  which  my  early  youth  evinced  a 
predisposition,  and  which  I  probably  inherit  from  both 
parents,    soon  revealed  itself.     Its  progress  was  at  first 
slow  ;  but  every  month,  I  became  conscious  of  its  latent 
ravages.    My  retreat,    which  to  most   beholders   would 
have  seemed  as  comfortless  as  it  is  obscure,  so  accorded 
with  my  subdued  feelings,  that,  like  the  disciple  who  de 
sired  a  tabernacle  upon  the  mountain  of  mystery,  I  have 
often  exclaimed  "  Master !  it  is  good  to  be  here."     Here, 
f\  have  learned  to  estimate  a  race,  to  which  I  had  ever 
done  .injustice.     Those,  whom  I  had  previously  stigma 
tized  as  the  slaves  of  barbarity,  ignorance,  and  obduracy, 
were  appointed  to  exhibit  to  my  view  continually  traces 
of  philanthropy,  intellect,  and  devotion,  inviolable  attach 
ment,  and  deathless  gratitude  for  trivial  kindness  ;  which, 
however  the   civilized  world  may  affect  to  scorn  in  Uu 
cabin  of  the  red  man,  she  does  not  often  find  in  the  pala 
ces  of  kings.     Here  I  have  felt,  how  vain  is  that  impor 
tance   which  we    attach   to   shades   of  complexion,  and 
gradations  of  rank  ;   how  less  than  nothing  the  pageantry 
of  pomp,  and  the  tinsel  of  wealth  appear,    when  "  God 
taketh  away  the  soul."    The  Almighty  has  here  appoint 
ed  me  to  realize  the  nature  of  those  phantoms  which  had 
often  held  me  in  bondage,  that  renouncing  all  other  domin 
ion,  my  affections  might  own  supreme  allegiance  to  him. 
It  was  necessary  that  the  pride  of  my  heart  should  be 
subdued  by  affliction  :  and  affliction  having  had  her  per 
fect  work,  has  terminated  in  peace.     Yet  I  quit  not  this 
24 


ii78  SKETCH   OF   CONNECTICUT. 

existence,  like  the  ascetic  for  whom  it  has  no  allurements. 
Its  opening  was  gilded  by  what  the  world  calls  happiness, 
and  its  close  with  a  joy  to  which  that  world  is  a  stranger. 
For  your  instructions,  your  prayers,  my  Father,  receive 
the  blessings  of  one  who  will  soon  have  neither  name,  nor 
memorial  among  men.  Your  last  benevolent  office,  will 
be  to  lay  her  wasted  frame  where  saints  slumber.  May 
she  meet  you  at  their  resurrection  in  light.  Her  last  re 
quest  is  that  you  would  sometimes  grant  a  visit,  and  a 
prayer  to  those,  who  were  parents  to  her  without  the  bonds 
of  affinity  ;  philanthropists,  without  hope  of  the  w^i'ld's 
applause  ;  Christians,  though  proscribed  as  the  heritors  of 
a  savage  nature  ;  and  who  will  also,  she  trusts,  be  heir? 
of  heaven,  through  faith  in  Him  who  hath  promised  that 
MIPS  merciful  shall  obtain  mercy." 


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